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Sadly his welcome strove to rise,

Sadly the echo fell,
And soft a spirit whisper sighed -

“ Sweet shepherd, fare-thee-well."

THE MOURNFUL TOURNAMENT.

With shield and spear apace they ride,

Seven knights all true and bold, For the king's fair daughter

A tournament to hold.

Hark! the bells are tolling, tolling,

Over the castle wall;
As they enter, see the tapers

Burning in the lofty hall.

Sweet Adelheid, the princess fair,

Lieth in death's cold sleep;
At her head the old king watches,

Watches but to weep.

Then out spake proud Degenwerth

“ Loud must I complain, Vainly have I girt my steed,

Borne shield and spear in vain."

Answered him young Adelbert

“ There needs not this lament, The daughter of the king always

Deserves a tournament."

Quoth bold Sir Walther—" rather far

Our steps be homeward led ; Small honor waits to crown their arms

Who battle for the dead.”

Cried Adelbert—" Well is she dead;

None liveth half so fair
To wear her wreath of roses red,

Her golden ring, to wear.

Forthwith these seven knights so bold

Rode out upon the plainHard was the strife, until at last

Six of the seven were slain.

The seventh was young Aldelbert,

The victor over all,
He lighted pale from off his steed,

And paced the lofty hall.

He took the wreath of roses red,

The golden ring as well,
Then quickly by the maiden's side

As pale as she he fell.

Hark! the bells are tolling, tolling,

Wrapt in funeral weeds,
To the grave the heroes slain,

The mouruful monarch leads ;

And with the conquering koight they bear

The gentle Adelheid,
Beneath one stone, in the cool earth,

To slumber side by side.

THE NUN.

In the silent cloister garden

Walked a maiden pale and young ;
Sadly shone the moon above her,

On her eye-lash sparkling hung
A tear—'twas for her lover.

“ Yet 'twas well, my own beloved,

Well that thou hast gone above-
Now my heart is thine and purely,

For an Angel I may love,
And thou art an Angel surely."

Thus with weary steps she wandered,

Till she reached the sacred place
Where the Virgin, pure and lowly,

Stood with features full of grace,
In the moonlight, calm and holy.

At her feet the maiden falleth,

Looking upward to the skies ;
In the morning there they found her,

Closed in death her gentle eyes,
And the black veil wrapped around her.

THE SHEPHERD'S SABBATH SONG.

SEE, the Sabbath of the Lord
Sheds its holy beams abroad;
At the breaking of the day,
In the fields afar I stray,
Through the distance, soft and clear,
Hark! the matin bells I hear.

Silently in prayer I kneel,
Gently o'er my spirit steal
Holy awe and tender grief,
And a sacred, calm relief;
Lord! how many seen by thee,
Are there kneeling now with me?

Lo! the heavens near and far
Full of light and beauty are,
Seeming ready to reveal
All the glories they conceal ;
Thus the Sabbath of the Lord
Sheds its holy beams abroad.

THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. THERE rode through the country three gallants so fine, They came to Frau Wirthin's,* who lived by the Rhine. “ Frau Wirthin, and hast thou good ale and good wine ? And how is that beautiful daughter of thine ?"

My ale and my wine are fresh and clear, But

my dear little daughter lies dead on her bier." And when they were come to the chamber within, All cold in her coffin the maiden was seen. The first, from her face the death-veil he took, And looked at her long with a sorrowful look; “Oh would thou wert living, wert living”-he said, " Henceforth I had loved thee, thou beautiful maid." But the second, he covers the face once more, Then turns from the sight and weepeth sore; "Ah! cold as thou liest there on thy bier, I have loved thee, fair maiden, for many a year." But quickly the third, he raises the veil, And kisses her mouth so pale, so pale ; “I always have loved thee, I love thee to-day, And I swear I will love thee for ever and aye !"

THE WREATH.

came

A child through sunny meadows strolled,

And plucked the blossoms there,
A lady from the forest came,

A lady wondrous fair.
She wove a garland for the child,

And twined it on her brow-
“Oh wear it ever, it will bloom,

Although it blooms not now.”
Years fled, and when the maiden walked

Sadly the moon beneath,
Weeping her earliest tears,

A blossom on the wreath.
And when within her lover's arms

A happy bride she stood,
How sweet and precious was the flower

That burst the opening bud.
Soon with a mother's fearful joy,

She clasped a gentle child,
And through the garland's leafy sheen

Much golden fruit there smiled.
Alas ! her love went sadly down,

Lost in the cold dark grave ;
Now wild in her dishevelled hair

The leaves of Autumn wave.

* Frau Wirthin"-Anglice, Landlady.

She died—yet still on her pale brow,

The faithful garland wore,
When wonderful to see, behold,

Both fruit and flowers it bore !

THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.
In ancient times a castle stood, so proud and loftily,
Across the land its splendor shone, across the deep blue sea;
Fair gardens bloomed around where precious odors slept,
And in the rainbows gleaming the sparkling fountains leapt.
There reigned a fearful monarch for lands and wars renowned,
Pale on his throne he sat, with cruel purpose crowned ;
Fierce passion clothed his thoughts and mingled with its breath,
For all his glance was terror, and all his words were death.
Unto this lordly castle two minstrels came one day,
One fair, with golden locks, the other worn and gray,
The old man with his harp, in all a minstrel's pride,
Rode on his gallant steed, while walked the youth beside.
Out spake the aged Harper" make ready now, my son,
Call all your powers together, and tune your loftiest tone;
Bid all your songs of joy or grief once more to memory start,
For we perchance this day may move the monarch's stony heart.”
Now stand these gentle minstrels the lofty hall within,
Upon his throne the monarch sits, and by his side the Queen,-
He clothed in fearful splendor, as gleams the Northern Night,
She smiling soft and mild, as beams the full moonlight.
The old man strikes the sounding chords, and cle ir, and still more clear,
The tides of music gush, and break upon the ear,
Like echoes from the grave his mighty song ascends,
While heavenly sweet between, the youth's soft carol blends.
They sang of Spring and Love, the golden time of youth,
Of Freedom, Faith and Hope--of Holiness and Truth,-
Of all sweet things that soothe, and loftiest things that can
Rouse into hero deeds the wond'rous soul of man.
The courtiers stand in circles--they leave the jest unsaid;
The warriors fierce and grim with reverence bow the head;
The queen is roused with rapture, then sinks in dreamy rest,
And to the minstrels throws the rose from off her breast.
The king with fury trembles--in fiercest wrath he cries,
" Seek you to charm my Court and Queen before my very eyes ?"
Then at the youth his sword he hurls, swift through his breast it gleams,
Thereout, instead of golden songs, the gushing life-blood streams.
As by a whirlwind driven, the startled hearers fly,

The youth within his Master's arms breathes out his latest sigh ;
The old man wraps his mantle around the quivering clay,
Then binds it upright on his steed and sadly goes his way.
Outside the castle gates, before the wall he stands,
And takes once more the wondrous harp within his aged hands,
Then on a marble column dashes the trembling strings,
And cries aloud while far around the solemn echo rings :

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