66 Oh, turn thee-turn thee, Rudiger, Why onward wilt thou roam? "The moon is up, the night is cold, "And we are far from home." He answered not, for now he saw To shore they came, and to the boat Fast leap'd he with the child; And in leap'd Margaret-breathless now, And pale with fear, and wild. With arching crest and swelling breast On sail'd the stately swan, And lightly down the rapid tide The little boat went on. The full-orb'd moon, that beam'd around And swiftly down the hurrying stream And the long streamer, fluttering fast, Flapp'd to the heavy gale. And he was mute in sullen thought, The little babe began to cry, Then Margaret raised her head, And with a quick and hollow voice, "Now, hush thee-hush thee, Margaret! "Nor my poor heart distress; "I do but pay, perforce, the price "Of former happiness. "And hush thee too, my little babe! 66 Thy cries so feeble, cease: "Lie still, lie still a little while, : “And thou shalt be at peace!". So as he spake to land they drew, It was a place all desolate, Nor house nor tree was there, And there a rocky mountain rose, And at its base a cavern yawn'd, No eye its depth may view, For in the moon-beam shining round, That darkness darker grew. Cold Horror crept through Margaret's blood, Her heart it paused with fear, When Rudiger approach'd the cave, And cried," Lo, I am here!" A deep sepulchral sound the cave Two giant arms appear. And Rudiger approach'd, and held The little infant nigh; Then Margaret shriek'd, and gather'd then New powers from agony. And round the baby fast and close Her trembling arms she folds, And with a strong convulsive grasp The little infant holds, -"Now, help me, Jesus!"-loud she cries, And loud on God she calls; Then from the grasp of Rudiger And loud he shriek'd, for now his frame No. XXXI. THE ELFIN-KING: J. LEYDEN. "O SWIFT, and swifter far he speeds "But I hear not the feet of his courser fleet, Lone was the strath where he crossed their path, And wide did the heath extend, The Knight in Green on that moor is seen And swift is the speed of his coal-black steed, As the leaf before the gale, But never yet have that courser's feet Been heard on hill or dale. |