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; And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, The butler hears the words with pain, Takes slow from its silken cloth again Then said the lcrd: "This glass to praise, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. Then speaks the lord, and waves it light, 66 This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; ""Twas right a goblet the Fate should be First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, "For its keeper takes a race of might, Kling! klang! with a harder blow than all As the goblet ringing flies apart, And through the rift, the wild flames start; In storms the foe, with fire and sword; On the morrow the butler gropes alone, "The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, * This poem is placed by Mr. Longfellow amongst his translations: we had always supposed it to be original, and still think it bears internal evidence of being from his own pen. FROM GRAF VON PLATEN. How I started up in the night, in the night, The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sigh In the night, in the night, Through the gate with the arch mediæval. The mill-brook rushed through the rocky height, Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight, In the night, in the night, Yet backward not one was returning. O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright, The stars in melodious existence; And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;— In the night, in the night, Through the magical measureless distance. And upward I gazed, in the night, in the night, Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight, In the night, in the night, The Remorse in thy heart that is beating. 528 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE DANISH. KING CHRISTIAN. A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK.-FROM JOHANNES EVALD. He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar, 66 "Now is the hour!" "Fly!" shouted they, " for shelter fly! The power?" North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent Then champions to thine arms were sent; Terror and Death glared where he went; From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', And fly! Path of the Dane to fame and might! Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, And amid pleasures and alarms, THE ELECTED KNIGHT. [The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in the translation.] SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain, Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, A tilt with him dare ride. He saw under the hill-side A Knight full well equipped; His steed was black, his helm was barred; He wore upon his spurs Twelve little golden birds; Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, He wore upon his mail Twelve little golden wheels; Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, And round and round the wheels they flew. He wore before his breast A lance that was poised in rest; He wore upon his helm A wreath of ruddy gold; And that gave him the Maidens Three, Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon "I am not Christ the Great, Thou shalt not yield thee yet; I am an Unknown Knight, Three modest Maidens have me bedight." M M |