SCENE VIII. [Seeing the body. Sleep on ! -Sleep spares thee many a pruel pang That beauteous form,--that, when I live no more SCENE IX. Ha! who has dared? Count. Ay, truly! Would that rest were mine ! But now Look not thus, Looks like these Oh madness, from him veil Ulr. It must have once been dear to ine; Count. (Much moved.). Oh, my Ulrick ! Ulr. Nay, thou art Hólm !-Where have you tarried, then, [Gives him a branch. Count. Ulrick ! and to me Thou givest this token ?-Oh too noble heart, Whose grace and mildness Madness cannot conquer ! Wouldst thou thus from the Book of Crimes efface My name so lovingly, that the last Judge May not observe or hear it? And dost thou, Even o'er the dear remains of her whom once I sever'd from thine arms, reach to me now The pledge of friendship? Oh for her sake, then, And for our child's, forgive me! (Suddenly recollecting himself. Now, indeed, Must he be summon'd. Fearful would it be, If unprepared, he found his parents thus ! [Exit. The Count having thus gone in search of Walter, Ulrick is left alone with the body. With the following scene we close our extracts: SCENE X. Ulr. Wherefore, for whose sake now, Has he departed ?-Fled?-How then? Did not Could rightly call to mind,-no, here it was not, Is mine old trusty friend, and safely now Will bear us thither. (Joyfully) Would'st thou ask what ship And dolphins merrily through the blue waves Will bear us on. Come, come Matilda, courage! Here must we not remain; for Holm again Would rouse thee from thy slumber. Then the harp With music and with song to cheer the way. Come, come, let's mount the steps, and from on high He takes the harp, and ascends boldly to a jutting abutment of the precipice, then strikes some full deep chords. They do perceive my notes. Joyfully now Their bands are greeting me. Hark, then, good friends I bring to you my beauteous wife; for you I do confide in wholly, and to you Will sing celestial music, if you but Can bring us safely, softly home.-Take, then, These verdant boughs, with them adorn your heads; As for a festival. The multitude (Throws them into the sea. Throng more and more together" Come," they cry, But first the harp I give you ! Wilt thou not (Throws it down, and then hastily returns to the body. Awake, Matilda ?Well !—so slumber on Slowly-softly, now, I raise thee up, and gently give thee, too, And all the while thou know'st not what is done. (Lifts her up. (He mounts with her to the brink of the precipice. Sleep, sweetest wife !--sleep on !-Ha, there he comes - (He leaps with the body into the sea. After this catastrophe, remain eight are both provided for; but to imitate pages of the tragedy, in the course of such rhythm in our language would, which Count Holm is persuaded to of course, never do; for productions ive, though but for penitence and re- bearing the name of dramatic must be pentance; and the attachment of Do- written like those that are acted, and rothea and Walter receives the sanc- rhyme is very properly banished from tion and blessing of their surviving our stage. Yet a literal translation relations. of these rhymes into English blank The success of this hasty sketch on verse, however inadequate, and in the German stage depends, no doubt, some respects unjust to the original as much on the mere action and scenery, author, bears generally a considerable as on any more intrinsic merit; but it resemblance to the style of our old must be observed, that the extreme English writers, such as Marlow, accuracy and elegance of Houvald’s Webster, &c., and by their admirers, rhymed versification atones in great our “Horæ Germanica” will be read measure to the reader or auditor for with most indulgence and interest. many deficiencies. The ear and eye They speak, though dead, of life once bright and gay, (When o'er their dusky heaps in mockery, And therefore too, unto my watchful eye, Come visions of the past. Ere yet they fly, R. * We have received a translation of a poem of considerable length by this author, from which these introductory lines are copied. It is entitled “A Winter Night's Dream,' and is to be found in the “ Phosphoros," for November, 1814. THE BROKEN BRIDGE. It was a lovely autumn morn, The morning mist, from the hill-top, Where the trees peer'd out, like islands grey, On a waveless, pearly lake. And, again, where we climb'd the woody rise, The filmy shrowd was wafted by, And, rejoicing in his victory, The dazzling sun look'd down. We reach'd the church, (a two-mile walk) Only the clerk was station'd there, A grave-stone for his seat; one hand The other fondly dallyed With the bright curls of a young head, The child look'd up in the old man's face- That simple group well harmonized With the surrounding scene The old grey church, with its shadows deep, And a redbreast, from the oaks hard by, That music wild, contrasting well I look'd, and listen'd, and look'd again, And I started like one awakened From a trance, when my young companion said, "Let's walk till the bell has done." So we turn'd away, by the path he chose, A lovely spot! but not, therefore, The perch and speckled trout. "Look what a fish!the same, I'll swear, "Nay, gentle Coz! I did but smile "Ay, more-a foot and half, near two.- "Gramercy, Coz! I only ask'd 66 Ay, but you look at one so queer,- You should soon see.-Well, never fear, Ay, doubtless-but, dear Edmund! now This is a day of peace and rest, And should diffuse in every breast, Such desultory chat we held, T'wards the old crazy Bridge, that led And gone it was-but planks and piles One with firm foot, and steady eye, But now, upon the further side, And those slippery stones the woman eyed, And the child stood there-a pretty boy- Limber and lithe as a little fawn, And I marvell'd much, that he sprang not on With a boy's activity. |