And it seem'd like sunshine when he raised With a stag's fleet step he bounded by, He must, he must! in that deep dell, "Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell, And he there's laughter in his eye, I've borne him in these arms, that now And must I see, on that fair brow, The dust untimely flung? I must!-yon green oak, branch and crest, The noble boy!-how proudly sprung It seem'd like youth to see him young, But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh, For the tree hath fall'n, and the flower must die. Say not 'tis vain !—I tell thee, some Are warn'd by a meteor's light, And they must go!-and he too, he- THE WILD HUNTSMAN. It is a popular belief in the Odenwald, that the passing of the Wild Huntsman announces the approach of war. He is supposed to issue with his train from the ruined castle of sodenstein, and traverse the air to the opposite castle of Schnellerts. It is confidently asserted that the sound of his phantom horses and hounds was heard by the duke of Baden before the commencement of the last war in Germany. THY rest was deep at the slumberer's hour If thou didst not hear the blast Of the savage horn, from the mountain-tower, And the roar of the stormy chase went by, Through the dark unquiet sky! The stag sprung up from his mossy bed When he caught the piercing sounds, And the oak-boughs crash'd to his antler'd head And the falcon soar'd from her craggy height, The banner shook on its ancient hold, And the glens were fill'd with the laugh and shout, From the chieftain's hand the wine-cup fell, At the castle's festive board, And a sudden pause came o'er the swell In the hall died fast away. *Minnesinger, love-singer; the wandering minstrels of Ger many were so called in the middle ages. The convent's chanted rite was stay'd, And the hermit dropp'd his beads, And a trembling ran through the forest-shade, At the neigh of the phantom steeds, And the church-bells pealed to the rocking blast As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass'd. The storm hath swept with the chase away, But the mother looks on her son to-day, And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care The Rhine flows bright, but its waves ere long Must hear a voice of war, And a clash of spears our hills among, And a trumpet from afar ; And the brave on a bloody turf must lie, For the Huntsman hath gone by! |