In the Saddle: A Collection of Poems on Horseback-Riding

IRMINGARD'S ESCAPE

I am the Lady Irmingard,Born of a noble race and name!Many a wandering Suabian bard,Whose life was dreary and bleak and hard,Has found through me the way to fame.Brief and bright were those days, and the nightWhich followed was full of a lurid light.Love, that of every woman's heartWill have the whole, and not a part,That is to her, in Nature's plan,More than ambition is to man,Her light, her life, her very breath,With no alternative but death,Found me a maiden soft and young,Just from the convent's cloistered school,And seated on my lowly stool,Attentive while the minstrels sung.Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall,Fairest, noblest, best of all,Was Walter of the Vogelweid;And, whatsoever may betide,Still I think of him with pride!His song was of the summer-time,The very birds sang in his rhyme;The sunshine, the delicious air,The fragrance of the flowers, were there;And I grew restless as I heard,Restless and buoyant as a bird,Down soft, aerial currents sailing,O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom,And through the momentary gloomOf shadows o'er the landscape trailing,Yielding and borne I knew not where,But feeling resistance unavailing.And thus, unnoticed and apart,And more by accident than choice,I listened to that single voiceUntil the chambers of my heartWere filled with it by night and day.One night – it was a night in May, —Within the garden, unawares,Under the blossoms in the gloom,I heard it utter my own nameWith protestations and wild prayers;And it rang through me, and becameLike the archangel's trump of doom,Which the soul hears, and must obey;And mine arose as from a tomb.My former life now seemed to meSuch as hereafter death may be,When in the great EternityWe shall awake and find it day.It was a dream, and would not stay;A dream, that in a single nightFaded and vanished out of sight.My father's anger followed fastThis passion, as a freshening blastSeeks out and fans the fire, whose rageIt may increase, but not assuage.And he exclaimed: "No wandering bardShall win thy hand, O Irmingard!For which Prince Henry of HoheneckBy messenger and letter sues."Gently, but firmly, I replied:"Henry of Hoheneck I discard!Never the hand of IrmingardShall lie in his as the hand of a bride!"This said I, Walter, for thy sake;This said I, for I could not choose.After a pause, my father spakeIn that cold and deliberate toneWhich turns the hearer into stone,And seems itself the act to beThat follows with such dread certainty;"This, or the cloister and the veil!"No other words than these he said,But they were like a funeral wail;My life was ended, my heart was dead.That night from the castle-gate went down,With silent, slow, and stealthy pace,Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds,Taking the narrow path that leadsInto the forest dense and brown.In the leafy darkness of the place,One could not distinguish form nor face,Only a bulk without a shape,A darker shadow in the shade;One scarce could say it moved or stayed.Thus it was we made our escape!A foaming brook, with many a bound,Followed us like a playful hound;Then leaped before us, and in the hollowPaused, and waited for us to follow,And seemed impatient, and afraidThat our tardy flight should be betrayedBy the sound our horses' hoof-beats made.And when we reached the plain below,We paused a moment and drew reinTo look back at the castle again;And we saw the windows all aglowWith lights, that were passing to and fro;Our hearts with terror ceased to beat;The brook crept silent to our feet;We knew what most we feared to know.Then suddenly horns began to blow;And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp,And our horses snorted in the dampNight-air of the meadows green and wide,And in a moment, side by side,So close, they must have seemed but one,The shadows across the moonlight run,And another came, and swept behind,Like the shadow of clouds before the wind!How I remember that breathless flightAcross the moors, in the summer night!How under our feet the long, white roadBackward like a river flowed,Sweeping with it fences and hedges,Whilst farther away, and overhead,Paler than I, with fear and dread,The moon fled with us, as we fledAlong the forest's jagged edges!All this I can remember well;But of what afterwards befellI nothing further can recallThan a blind, desperate, headlong fall;The rest is a blank and darkness all.When I awoke out of this swoon,The sun was shining, not the moon,Making a cross upon the wallWith the bars of my windows narrow and tall;And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray,From early childhood, day by day,Each morning, as in bed I lay!I was lying again in my own room!And I thanked God, in my fever and pain,That those shadows on the midnight plainWere gone, and could not come again!I struggled no longer with my doom!Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

WILLIAM AND HELEN

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,And eyed the dawning red:"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!O art thou false or dead?" —With gallant Fred'rick's princely powerHe sought the bold Crusade;But not a word from Judah's warsTold Helen how he sped.With Paynim and with SaracenAt length a truce was made,And every knight returned to dryThe tears his love had shed.Our gallant host was homeward boundWith many a song of joy;Green waved the laurel in each plume,The badge of victory.And old and young, and sire and son,To meet them crowd the way,With shouts and mirth and melody,The debt of love to pay.Full many a maid her true-love met,And sobbed in his embrace,And fluttering joy in tears and smilesArrayed full many a face.Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;She sought the host in vain;For none could tell her William's fate,If faithless, or if slain.The martial band is past and gone;She rends her raven hair,And in distraction's bitter moodShe weeps with wild despair."O rise, my child," her mother said,"Nor sorrow thus in vain;A perjured lover's fleeting heartNo tears recall again." —"O mother, what is gone, is gone,What's lost forever lorn;Death, death alone can comfort me;O had I ne'er been born!"O break, my heart, – O break at once!Drink my life-blood, Despair!No joy remains on earth for me,For me in heaven no share." —"O enter not in judgment, Lord!"The pious mother prays;"Impute not guilt to thy frail child!She knows not what she says."O say thy pater noster, child!O turn to God and grace!His will, that turned thy bliss to bale,Can change thy bale to bliss." —"O mother, mother, what is bliss?O mother, what is bale?My William's love was heaven on earth,Without it earth is hell."Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven,Since my loved William's slain?I only prayed for William's sake,And all my prayers were vain." —"O take the sacrament, my child,And check these tears that flow;By resignation's humble prayer,O hallowed be thy woe!" —"No sacrament can quench this fire,Or slake this scorching pain;No sacrament can bid the deadArise and live again."O break, my heart, – O break at once!Be thou my god, Despair!Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me,And vain each fruitless prayer." —"O enter not in judgment, Lord,With thy frail child of clay!She knows not what her tongue has spoke;Impute it not, I pray!"Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,And turn to God and grace;Well can devotion's heavenly glowConvert thy bale to bliss." —"O mother, mother, what is bliss?O mother, what is bale?Without my William what were heaven,Or with him what were hell?" —Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,Upbraids each sacred power,Till, spent, she sought her silent room,All in the lonely tower.She beat her breast, she wrung her hands,Till sun and day were o'er,And through the glimmering lattice shoneThe twinkling of the star.Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fellThat o'er the moat was hung;And, clatter! clatter! on its boardsThe hoof of courser rung.The clank of echoing steel was heardAs off the rider bounded;And slowly on the winding stairA heavy footstep sounded.And hark! and hark! a knock – Tap! tap!A rustling stifled noise; —Door-latch and tinkling staples ring; —At length a whispering voice."Awake, awake, arise, my love!How, Helen, dost thou fare?Wakest thou, or sleepest? laughest thou, or weepest?Hast thought on me, my fair?" —"My love! my love! – so late by night! —I waked, I wept for thee:Much have I borne since dawn of morn;Where, William, couldst thou be!" —"We saddle late – from HungaryI rode since darkness fell;And to its bourne we both returnBefore the matin-bell." —"O rest this night within my arms,And warm thee in their fold!Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind: —My love is deadly cold." —"Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush!This night we must away;The steed is wight, the spur is bright;I cannot stay till day."Busk, busk, and boune!1 Thou mount'st behindUpon my black barb steed:O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles,We haste to bridal bed." —"To-night – to-night a hundred miles! —O dearest William, stay!The bell strikes twelve – dark, dismal hour?O wait, my love, till day!" —"Look here, look here – the moon shines clear —Full fast I ween we ride;Mount and away! for ere the dayWe reach our bridal bed."The black barb snorts, the bridle rings;Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee!The feast is made, the chamber spread,The bridal guests await thee." —Strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes,She mounts the barb behind,And round her darling William's waistHer lily arms she twines.And, hurry! hurry! off they rode,As fast as fast might be;Spurned from the courser's thundering heelsThe flashing pebbles flee.And on the right, and on the left,Ere they could snatch a view,Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain,And cot, and castle, flew."Sit fast – dost fear? – The moon shines clear —Fleet goes my barb – keep hold!Fearest thou?" – "O no!" she faintly said;"But why so stern and cold?"What yonder rings? what yonder sings?Why shrieks the owlet gray?" —"'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song,The body to the clay."With song and clang, at morrow's dawn.Ye may inter the dead:To-night I ride, with my young bride,To deck our bridal bed."Come with thy choir, thou coffined guest,To swell our nuptial song!Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast!Come all, come all along!" —Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier;The shrouded corpse arose:And, hurry, hurry! all the trainThe thundering steed pursues.And, forward! forward! on they go;High snorts the straining steed;Thick pants the rider's laboring breath,As headlong on they speed."O William, why this savage haste?And where thy bridal bed?" —"'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill,And narrow, trustless maid." —"No room for me?" – "Enough for both; —Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!"O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge,He drove the furious horse.Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,Splash! splash! along the sea;The scourge is wight, the spur is bright,The flashing pebbles flee.Fled past on right and left how fastEach forest, grove, and bower!On right and left fled past how fastEach city, town, and tower!"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear,Dost fear to ride with me? —Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride!""O William, let them be! —"See there, see there! What yonder swingsAnd creaks 'mid whistling rain?" —"Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel;A murderer in his chain. —"Hollo! thou felon, follow here:To bridal bed we ride;And thou shalt prance a fetter danceBefore me and my bride." —And, hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash!The wasted form descends;And fleet as wind through hazel bushThe wild career attends.Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,Splash! splash! along the sea;The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,The flashing pebbles flee.How fled what moonshine faintly showed!How fled what darkness hid!How fled the earth beneath their feet,The heaven above their head!"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear.And well the dead can ride;Does faithful Helen fear for them?" —"O leave in peace the dead!" —"Barb! Barb! methinks I hear the cock;The sand will soon be run:Barb! Barb! I smell the morning air;The race is well-nigh done." —Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode;Splash! splash! along the sea;The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,The flashing pebbles flee."Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead;The bride, the bride is come;And soon we reach the bridal bed,For, Helen, here's my home." —Reluctant on its rusty hingeRevolved an iron door,And by the pale moon's setting beamWere seen a church and tower.With many a shriek and cry whiz roundThe birds of midnight, scared;And rustling like autumnal leavesUnhallowed ghosts were heard.O'er many a tomb and tombstone paleHe spurred the fiery horse,Till sudden at an open graveHe checked the wondrous course.The falling gauntlet quits the rein,Down drops the casque of steel,The cuirass leaves his shrinking side,The spur his gory heel.The eyes desert the naked skull,The mouldering flesh the bone,Till Helen's lily arms entwineA ghastly skeleton.The furious barb snorts fire and foam,And, with a fearful bound,Dissolves at once in empty air,And leaves her on the ground.Half seen by fits, by fits half heard,Pale spectres flit along,Wheel round the maid in dismal dance,And howl the funeral song:"E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft,Revere the doom of Heaven.Her soul is from her body reft;Her spirit be forgiven!"Bürger's "Leonore" – Translated by Sir Walter Scott.

THE GREETING ON KYNAST

She said: This narrow chamber is not for me the place,Said the lady Kunigunde of Kynast!'Tis pleasanter on horseback, I'll hie me to the chase,Said the lady Kunigunde!She said: The knight who weds me, I do require of him,Said the lady Kunigunde of Kynast!To gallop round the Kynast and break not neck nor limb.A noble knight came forward and galloped round the wall;The lady Kunigunde of Kynast,The lady, without lifting a finger, saw him fall.And yet another galloped around the battlement;The lady Kunigunde,The lady saw him tumble, yet did she not relent.

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1

Busk– to dress. Boune– to prepare one's self for a journey.