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With the savage band on either hand, she wept and tore her hair.

Poor innocent! to my heart it went to see her sobbing there. They would have borne her off alive; it needed but a blow. Her head I split - I'm proud of it-I saved my true love so. I killed my love, to save my love, I, Walter of Acquitaine. Pierced like a sieve and streaming blood, but alive enough to kill;

I drove them back to seek for help, and scared them down the hill.

They left me there by Hildegund, where, in her blood, she slept;

I held her with a trembling hand, and knelt by her and wept. There was none to weep for Hildegund but Walter of Acquitaine.

My life is weary, Hildegund, my weapon clogged with slain. Close to thy face I take my place; here come the Huns

again!

My strength and blood are ebbing fast, my days will soon be o'er,

But to spread a bed for us two dead, I want to kill some

more.

A funeral couch for Hildegund and Walter of Acquitaine.

SCRAPS FROM A PROJECTED TRANSLATION OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED.

THE HEROINE.

FROM THE FIRST ADVENTURE.

Und ist in alten maren

u. 8. W.

TO us in ancient story be many wonders told
Of heroes great in glory, of courage manifold;
Of joyaunces and high-times, of weeping and of wail,
Of keenest worthies' strife ye may now hear the won-
drous tale.

A maiden full noble in Burgundy upgrew,

So might be none fairer the lands of earth all through.
Criemhilt was she y-cleped and was a lovely maid,
For sake of whom the life was lost of many a gallant blade.

There were three kings that watched her, three kings of might and name,

Günther and Gemot those heroes without blame,

And Giselher the youthful a choice and gallant blade, These princes had to keep her, their sister was the maid.

HER DREAM.

In disen hohen eren

u. 8. W.

A dream dreamed Chriemhilt who walked in virtue's ways,
That she a wild falcon had trained for many days.
T'was worried by two eagles, before her sight full plain:
Could nought in this world happen to give her greater pain.
This dream she to her mother dame Ute did relate.
Her mother could not give her presage of better fate.
"The falcon that thou rearedst, a noble man is he.
So God be not his safe-guard thou'lt lose him speedily."
My well-beloved mother, why name you man to me?
Without love of gallant will I forever be.

So will I stay a fair maid until my dying day
And wed the love of mortal man I never, never may.

Abjure it not so stoutly then did her mother say
If thou wouldst be heart-gladdened in this world all
thy day,

That cometh through man's love alone thou wilt be very fair, And therefore God assigns thee a knight beyond compare.

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„Let be" she said "thy counsel, O lady mother mine!

It hath to many women been clearer than sunshine

That sorrow is love's wages. This have they to lament.
So no mishap befal me, to lack both I'm content."

Thus in her lofty. virtue that she kept in its prime
Lived this noble maiden a long and joyous time.
For that she knew of no man whom she could truly love.
Yet after she with honor a good knight's wife did prove.

He was the very falcon the dream to her depicted, Explained her by her mother. What vengeance she inflicted. Upon her nearest kinsmen, by whom the deed was done! So through the death of him alone died many a mother's son.

THE HERO.

FROM THE SECOND ADVENTURE.

Do wuchs in Niederlanden

u. S. W.

There grew up in the Lowlands a noble monarch's child.
His father's name was Sigemund, Sigelind his mother mild.
'Twas in a wealthy stronghold and one well known to fame;
The Rhine it lay alongside, and Santen was its name.

Siegfried he was y-cleped, that self same gallant good,
To many realms he wandered in high and daring mood.
In prowess great of person to many lands rode he.
Oh what impetuous heroes he found in Burgundy!

Before this valiant warrior to manhood well had grown
He had achieved such marvels with his own hand alone
That ever more about him men might both sing and say
And we might wonder at him unto this very day.

THEIR MEETING.

FROM THE THIRD ADVENTURE.

Nu gie diu minneliche

u. s. W.

Forth came the lovely maiden as comes the morning red,
The gloomy clouds disparting: much care the gallant fled,
Who in his heart had borne it a long and weary way;
Iu all her bloom before him he saw the lovely May.
From forth her garments glittered full many a jewel rare;
Her rosy-red complexion shone marvellously fair:
However loth to own it, yet must men all agree
That on the earth was never so fair a thing as she.

As floats the silver full-moon the starry host before,
And light so clear and mellow down through the clouds

doth pour,

So shone she in her beauty before each other dame; Well might the hearts of many be fluttered as she came!

The chamberlains so wealthy before her led the way;
The heroes high in spirit; they would not quiet stay;
To see the lovely maiden they presséd to and fro.
To Siegfried, the hero, that was both joy and woe.

Within himself thus spake he, "How can it ever be
That I should win thy love? 'Tis an idle fantasy.
Yet must I go without thee, then were I better dead."
And aye as he thought on her his face turned white and red.

There did the son of Sieglind before them fairly stand
As he were limned on parchment by cunning master's hand;
And every one that saw him owned willingly his worth,
"Sure such a gallant hero was never seen on earth."
Trin. Coll., Cant., 1842.

LEONORA.

YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE, 1840.
Republished in the Evening Post January 1847.

(This I believe to be the first version of Bürgers famous ballad ever published in the metre of the original. At the same time I make the assertion with diffidence, knowing how difficult it is to prove a negative of this sort. In the Autumn of 1846 Clarence Mangan contributed to the Dublin University Magazine what he supposed to be the first version ever made in the original metre, and, some years later, Albert Smith published one for which he advanced the same claim. On the appearance of Mangan's translation Mr. Cullen Bryant did me the honor to approve of and republish mine.)

LEONORA, as the day dawned red
Upstarts from dream dismaying,
"Art untrue, William, or art dead?
How long wilt be delaying?

He had gone with King Frederick's might
Upon the field of Prague to fight.

No letters came declaring

If he still well were faring.

The monarch and the empress proud

Of lengthened war fatigued,

Their haughty hearts at last had bowed,
And had together leagued,

And all the host with shout and song
And clang of drum both loud and long.
And radiant garlands wearing,
Were to their homes repairing.

And here and there and everywhere
O'er road and bridges, yearning
With joy, did throng both old and young
To meet their friends returning.
"Thank God!" the wives and children cried
And "Welcome!" many a joyful bride

But none Leonora meeteth,

None kisseth her or greeteth.

She searched the ranks right through and through,
She asked whoe'er came nigh her,

But no one aught of William knew
Of all that passed by her,

So when the army all had passed
Herself to Earth she wildly cast,
Her raven ringlets tearing
With countenance despairing.

Her mother hastens to the place,
"May God in pity view thee!"
And clasps her in her fond embrace,
"Child, what hath happend to thee?"
"O mother, mother, gone is gone!
Farewell the world and all thereon!
With God is no compassion,
Oh me, my hopeless passion!"

"Help, help, Oh God! Look kindly down!
My Child, to prayer apply thee.
What God does, for the best is done;
He will with pity eye thee."
"Oh mother, idle fantasy!
God has not done the best for me.
What, what can prayer avail me?
It must from henceforth fail me."

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