When he rode into the lists,

The arch of heaven grew black with mists,

And the castle 'gan to rock.

At the first blow,

Fell the youth from saddle-bow,

Hardly rises from the shock.

Pipe and viol call the dances,

Torch-light through the high halls glances;

Waves a mighty shadow in;

With manner bland

Doth ask the maiden's hand,

Doth with her the dance begin;

Danced in sable iron sark,

Danced a measure weird and dark,

Coldly clasped her limbs around. From breast and hair

Down fall from her the fair

Flowerets, faded, to the ground.

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.

'Twixt son and daughter all distraught,

With mournful mind

The ancient King reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,

But the guest a beaker took;

"Golden wine will make

you

whole!"

The children drank,

Gave

many a courteous thank;

"O that draught was very cool!"

Each the father's breast embraces,

Son and daughter; and their faces

Looks the fear-struck father gray,
He beholds his children die.

"Woe! the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth;
Take me, too, the joyless father!"
Spake the grim Guest,

From his hollow, cavernous breast;

"Roses in the spring I gather!"

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

FROM SALIS.

INTO the Silent Land!

Ah! who shall lead us thither?

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand

Thither, O thither,

Into the Silent Land!

Into the Silent Land!

To you, ye boundless regions

Of all perfection! Tender morning visions

Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!

Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms

Into the Silent Land!

O Land! O Land!

For all the broken-hearted

The mildest herald by our fate allotted,

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand

To lead us with a gentle hand

Into the land of the great Departed,

Into the Silent Land!

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL.

FROM UHLAND.

[The tradition, upon which this ballad is founded, and the "shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart., of Eden Hall, Cumberland; and is not so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it.]

Or Edenhall, the youthful Lord
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call!
He rises at the banquet board,

And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all,
"Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"

The butler hears the words with pain,

The house's oldest seneschal,

Takes slow from its silken cloth again

The drinking glass of crystal tall;

They call it The Luck of Edenhall.

Then said the Lord; "This glass to praise,

Fill with red wine from Portugal!"

The gray-beard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines over all,

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light, "This glass of flashing crystal tall

Gave to my Sires the Fountain-Sprite;
She wrote in it; If this glass doth fall,
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall !

"'T was right a goblet the Fate should be
Of the joyous race of Edenhall!

Deep draughts drink we right willingly ;
And willingly ring, with merry call,

Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"

First rings it deep, and full, and mild,

Like to the song of a nightingale;

Then like the roar of a torrent wild;

Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall,

The glorious Luck of Edenhall.

"For its keeper takes a race of might,

The fragile goblet of crystal tall;

It has lasted longer than is right;

Kling! klang!-with a harder blow than all

Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"