LAYS OF MANY LANDS.-NO. VI.

Stabooren.

A BALLAD.

(FROM THE GERMAN OF ADOLF BOETTGER.)

1.

On the west of the emerald Zuyder Zee was an island seen of old,
A lovelier spot the evening sun hath never arrayed in gold;
Thereon Stavooren flourished, of cities anear or far

The richest known; it rose alone, a dazzling queenly star.

II.

There dwelt in Fourteen thirty-four a damsel of high degree;
The fairest and the pridefullest of Woman's race was she.
The wealthiest, eke, that ever basked in Fortune's beamful smile;
Her castles and her vassals they were countless over the isle.

To heap up treasure on treasure; with field and galley and tower
To swell yet more her Mammon-store, and widen her sphere of power,
Was her soul's delight by day and night, while forth from her stately door
With blasphemous parle and mocking taunts she hourly drave God's Poor.

IV.

On a sunny Summer forenoon she stood by the purple main,
And thus she spake to Vanderrost, an Admiral of her train,
"Come! hie thee over the waves, as the wilful winds may blow,

And bring to my gate the costliest freight that East or West may show !"

V.

"All things, O, noblest lady, for thee will I do and dare,”

The Admiral said, and sailed away to Dantzie's market-square.

The teeming corn, the dark-blue grape, were piled in every stall;

"Lo! here," he spake, "or I much mistake, the costliest freight of all !"

VI.

Anon to the Palaced City he bends his course once more,

And the Lady Hilda hails him as he anchors nigh the shore.

"Well, Admiral mine! and how hast sped? Hast voyaged to far-off lands? Hast been to the East for pearls, or to Guinea for golden sands?"

VII.

"Not unto Guinea, and not to the East, O, Lady, have I fared:
In the riches of Dantzic's market thy lowly liege hath shared.
Nor gold nor gems nor jewels have I brought for bower or hall,
But the teeming corn and dark-blue grape, the costliest freight of all."

VIII.

"Accurst be thy corn and dark-blue grape!" she spake in wrathful mood. "Down, slave, with the trumpery cargo this moment into the flood!" Pale waxed the Admiral Vanderrost; his breath it came and went; "O, Lady," he said, "these, these be gifts that a God of Love hath sent!"

IX.

But again she cried, "Down, down with all !" in tones of tenfold wrath.
In vain the neighbouring Poor in groupes knelt humbly in her path.
In vain they knelt and wept and prayed; the pitiless, heartless One
Waved all aside; her passion and pride could brook restraint from none.

X.

A third time rang on the palsied air her demon-inspired behest;

And the Admiral-saddest of servitors!-groaned low and beat his breast. "O, Lady, incense not Heaven! The corn thou sinkest now

Thou yet shalt need in the day when God writes Famine on thy brow!"

XI.

Scorn sat on Hilda's features.

"What insolence makes thee rave?

Thou seest this ruby ring? Behold! I hurl it into the wave.

When again that ring, like a living thing, shall rise from this cryptful sea
Then may I pale at thy drivelling tale that Famine can menace Me!"

XII.

And down amiddle the bubbling waves, down sank the fruit and corn,
While, from the sands, with clasped hands, gazed many a wretch forlorn.
But, hear a marvel! While as yet the sun stood high in the South
Was laid on the maiden's board a fish with the ruby ring in his mouth!

XIII.

Here darkly shone the Heralding Sign, the presage of looming woes.
And soon came these, came Dearth, Disease, and the swords of conquering foes-
The city, beleaguered seven long moons, despaired at last of relief,
And the haughty Lady Hilda died, downstricken by Want and Grief.

XIV.

In the Autumn-time the ripe grain rotted over the yellow meads;
Each fair luxuriant garden grew to a wilderness of weeds;

The palace crumbled stone by stone; the galley sank in the bay;
And a ghastly boding of Worse to come o'erdarked men's minds alway.

XV.

And, woe the hour! in the waste of Night a mightiest earthquake shock ;
And into the deep fell castle and keep, and tower from toppling rock—
And, woe! another, and yet another, till all rolled headlong down,

And the chasm-rent earth and engulphing sea had swallowed both people and

town.

XVI.

So perished the proud Stavooren !-yet not for the sins alone
Of the ruthless Lady Hilda, for its habitants' hearts were stone.
Upgiven to Riot and all Excess, too many among them trod

In the steps of that bold bad woman, and mocked the Spirit of GOD.

XVII.

And now, as thou sadly glancest along that once bright isle,

Thine eye meets nought but the lone clay hut, the swamp and the ruined pile— For, in Autumn-time the ripe grain rots all over the yellow meads,

And, where gardens bloomed of old, rise now blue jungles of poison-weeds.

Wreaths for the Non-living.

(FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF ERIC BAROLF.)

I.

I thank thee, child, for gathering me
Those brilliant flowers

From Summer's bowers-
Death's bays!

Albeit none ever told to thee
That in those early days

Whereon our faith reposes

The Dead were always crowned with hyacinths and roses.

My pride and powers have lost their goal-
I am withered like the grass

Ungathered by the mower

Low in Despair's Abyss I am sunk-was none e'er lower.

And nothing can restore thy father

Those brighter flowers-fair Hopes-his youth was fond to gather!

The Devil and the Wind.

A LEGEND.

(FROM THE RHEINSAGEN.)

I.

Before the Jesuits' House at Bonn the Wind pipes high and shrill,
It pipes all day, it wails all night-'tis never, never still:

It shrieketh like a woman who hath not-or hath-her will.

II.

And why thus pipes, and why thus wails it, wails it night and day?
The cause is told in many an old and wizard monkish lay.

For ancient is that holy House, now falling to decay.

III.

The Devil, sadly tired of Hell, went once a-pleasuring forth,

And with him went his chosen chum, the wild Wind of the North:

When, thus he spake-I give ye his words for what ye deem them worth

Iv.

"Good friend and faithful crony mine!-you mark that high House yon— That is the Jesuits' Cloister-house, the far-famed House of Bonn; And well and dearly love I, Wind, its dwellers every one!

V.

"So, you, my trump, just tarry here before the gate a space,
Just wait while I step in a bit, and glance about the place;
I want to see the Father Prior anent a conscience-case."

VI.

"Ha!" laughed the Wind, "that must be a Case of real Distress, no doubt! However, you yourself know best-so, in with you, old Trout!

I'm safe to wait and whistle here until you again come out."

VII.

So said, so done: the Wind began its whistling there and then,
And, in the Arch-Deceiver stole, to tempt the holy men-
Filled with all wiles and subtleties was he that hour, ye ken!

VIII.

"Hail, pious friends !" quoth he-" I've got a conscience case to moot. Pray, can I see your Prior's face?"-" Ay! and much more to boot," A monk replied, "if he, in turn, may only see thy foot.

IX.

"Avaunt, foul fiend! I know thee well! I guess thy crafty plot!

Begone!... But no!-thou shalt not hence: I chain thee to this spot!
Here shalt thou, till this House be dust, dree thine avenging lot !"

X.

The monk then chained Old Clootie down, despite his yells and cries,
And from that day-the Bonnsmen say-in thraldom thus he lies,
Because, from dread of direr dool, he dares not try to rise.

XI.

Meanwhile the Wind still waits without, and pipes in woful strain—
It whistles now-it howls anon-it storms, but all in vain.

Three hundred years have rolled, but Satan comes not forth again!

XII.

And Time and Hell go on to swell the victories both have won,
And many a generation since of monks has come and gone,
But still before that Cloister wails the wonder-wind of Bonn!

The Death-Garland.

(FROM THE SPANISH OF ALOYSIUS GILVEDRAS.)

I.

On a festival morning early,

Teresa went forth to walk.

The rain-drops heavy and pearly

Lay deep in the tulip's purple bell,
And had broken the tender stalk

Of the lily and asphodel.

But she looked for a rose in vain around;
Its petals alone perfumed the ground.

II.

When the Spirit of Storm uncloses

His gates in Iberia's clime,

Woe, woe to the vestal roses!

They droop, they faint, they are scattered, they die!Teresa gazed for a time

On the wreck with many a sigh,

Then turning from flower to plant and tree,

She gathered some cypress and rosemarie.

III.

And there, with a wan, weak finger,
She wove of the twain a wreath ;
But the morn forbade her to linger ;

She wended home from the garden-plain.
—“ Oh, mother, my goal is Death!

My heart is pierced with a mortal pain !”
Then lay she down on her couch so low,
Most like an image of wax or snow.

IV.

"What means thy garland of cypress
And rosemarie, my child?"-
"Oh, mother, dear mother, why press

Thy dying daughter to tell thee more?
These grew in the garden wild,

Though I noted them not before.

Green cypress and rosemarie !-they'll wave
In the Autumn evenings above my grave.

V.

"The lamp of his life is darkened,

The life of mine own True-love.
O, Gabriel! hadst thou hearkened

In years agone to thy faithful bride,
Thou never hadst cared to rove

O'er the treacherous Ocean wide.

We meet in Heaven!"-Her lips grew pale.
And she, too, is dead who told me this tale.*

The Santon and the Maiden.

A TALE.

(FROM THE DUTCH OF DE GRUENVELDT.)

The holy Santon Hadam sate one evening,
Just as the yeasty grey of Dusk was leavening
The Sunset's cloudful mass of gold and green,
Before the mosque of Sultan Bil-ed-Deen,
And groaned upon his beads his fiftieth prayer
To Allah that the axe of Islamism

Might chop to chips the bones of Heresy and Schism,
When, lifting up his eyes, quite accidentally,

He saw a tall and slim young woman, fair

As Venus freshly risen from the water,
Approaching him. On coming up, her air

Appeared most mournful, and the good man mentally

Regarded her with sentiments of pity.

"The Girdle of Affliction, O, my daughter,"

He said, "seems rather overtightly drawn

Around the Waist of thine Endurance. Yet

Take heart! What, though thou comest from the city,
Where cares are thick as date-shells! Never fret!

The darkest hour is always next the dawn."
-"Ah, father!" sighed the damsel, and her face
Assumed a yet more troubled look-" my case
Is one, I fear, beyond thy power to mitigate."
"Inshallah!" said the Santon, " I might litigate

The mother.