Defperate, as his terrors rife,
In the fteed the spur he hides;
From himself in vain he flies;
Anxious, restless, on he rides.

Seven long days, and seven long nights,
Wild he wander'd, woe the while!
Ceaseless care, and caufelefs fright,
Urge his footsteps many a mile.

Dark the feventh fad night defcends;
Rivers fwell, and rain-ftreams pour ;
While the deafening Thunder lends
All the terrors of his roar.

Weary, wet, and spent with toil,

Where his head fhall Frederick hide?

Where, but in yon ruin'd aifle,

By the lightning's flash defcried.

To the portal dank and low,

Faft his fteed the wanderer bound;

Down a ruin'd staircase, flow

Next his darkling way he wound.

Long drear vaults before him lie!
Glimmering lights are feen to glide!
-"Bleffed Mary hear my cry!
Deign a finner's fteps to guide !"-

Often

Thundering voices from within,
Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose;
As they fell, a folemn ftrain

Lent its wild and wondrous clofe!

Midft the din, he feem'd to hear
Voice of friends, by death removed;-
-Well he knew that folemn air,
'Twas the lay that Alice loved.-

Hark! for now a folemn knell

FOUR times on the ftill night broke FOUR times, at its deaden'd fwell, Echoes from the ruins fpoke,

As the lengthen'd clangours die,
Slowly opes the iron door!
Straight a banquet met his eye,
But a funeral's form it wore!

Coffins for the feats extend;

All with black the board was spread,
Girt by parent, brother, friend,
Long fince number'd with the dead!

Alice.

Alice, in her grave clothes bound,
Ghaftly smiling, points a feat;
All arose with thundering found;
All the expected stranger greet.

High their meagre arms they wave, Wild their notes of welcome fwell; "Welcome, traitor, to the grave! "Perjured, bid the light farewell!"

No.

The tradition of the "Wild Huntfmen" (Die Wilde Jager) is a popular superstition, very generally believed by the peasants of Germany. Whoever wishes for more information respecting these imaginary Sportsmen, will find his curiosity fully satisfied, by perusing the first Volume of the German Romance of " the Necromancer" (Der Geister-banner.) The original of this Ballad is by Bürger, Author of the well-known "Leonora."

THE Wildgrave* winds his bugle horn;

To horfe, to horfe, halloo, halloo !

His fiery courfer fnuffs the morn,

And thronging ferfs their Lord pursue.

The Wildgrave is a German title, correfponding to the Earl Warden of a royal foreft.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes ftartling wake.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling finful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd.

But ftill the Wildgrave onward rides ;
Halloo, halloo, and hark again!
When, fpurring from oppofing fides,
Two ftranger horfemen join the train.

Who was each stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell:
The right-hand fteed was filver white,
The left, the fwarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand horfeman, young and fair,
His fmile was like the morn of May;
The left, from eye of tawny glare,
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.

He wav'd his huntfman's cap on high,
Cry'd, "Welcome, welcome, noble Lord!
"What fport can earth, or sea, or sky,
"To match the princely chafe, afford?"-

-"Ceafe