Legends and Lyrics. Part 1

VERSE: A DREAM

All yesterday I was spinning,Sitting alone in the sun;And the dream that I spun was so lengthy,It lasted till day was done.I heeded not cloud or shadowThat flitted over the hill,Or the humming-bees, or the swallows,Or the trickling of the rill.I took the threads for my spinning,All of blue summer air,And a flickering ray of sunlightWas woven in here and there.The shadows grew longer and longer,The evening wind passed by,And the purple splendour of sunsetWas flooding the western sky.But I could not leave my spinning,For so fair my dream had grown.I heeded not, hour by hour,How the silent day had flown.At last the grey shadows fell round me,And the night came dark and chill,And I rose and ran down the valley,And left it all on the hill.I went up the hill this morningTo the place where my spinning lay —There was nothing but glistening dewdropsRemained of my dream to-day.

VERSE: THE PRESENT

Do not crouch to-day, and worshipThe old Past, whose life is fled,Hush your voice to tender reverence;Crowned he lies, but cold and dead:For the Present reigns our monarch,With an added weight of hours;Honour her, for she is mighty!Honour her, for she is ours!See the shadows of his heroesGirt around her cloudy throne;Every day the ranks are strengthenedBy great hearts to him unknown;Noble things the great Past promised,Holy dreams, both strange and new;But the Present shall fulfil them,What he promised, she shall do.She inherits all his treasures,She is heir to all his fame,And the light that lightens round herIs the lustre of his name;She is wise with all his wisdom,Living on his grave she stands,On her brow she bears his laurels,And his harvest in her hands.Coward, can she reign and conquerIf we thus her glory dim?Let us fight for her as noblyAs our fathers fought for him.God, who crowns the dying ages,Bids her rule, and us obey —Bids us cast our lives before her,Bids us serve the great To-day.

VERSE: CHANGES

Mourn, O rejoicing heart!The hours are flying;Each one some treasure takes,Each one some blossom breaks,And leaves it dying;The chill dark night draws near,Thy sun will soon depart,And leave thee sighing;Then mourn, rejoicing heart,The hours are flying!Rejoice, O grieving heart!The hours fly fast;With each some sorrow dies,With each some shadow flies,Until at lastThe red dawn in the eastBids weary night depart,And pain is past.Rejoice then, grieving heart,The hours fly fast!

VERSE: STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY

Strive; yet I do not promiseThe prize you dream of to-dayWill not fade when you think to grasp it,And melt in your hand away;But another and holier treasure,You would now perchance disdain,Will come when your toil is over,And pay you for all your pain.Wait; yet I do not tell youThe hour you long for now,Will not come with its radiance vanished,And a shadow upon its brow;Yet far through the misty future,With a crown of starry light,An hour of joy you know notIs winging her silent flight.Pray; though the gift you ask forMay never comfort your fears,May never repay your pleading,Yet pray, and with hopeful tears;An answer, not that you long for,But diviner, will come one day,Your eyes are too dim to see it,Yet strive, and wait, and pray.

VERSE: A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER

Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds!Summer has fled,The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die;The Lily’s gracious headAll low must lie,Because the gentle Summer now is dead.Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds!Summer lies low;The rose’s trembling leaves will soon be shed,For she that loved her so,Alas, is dead!And one by one her loving children go.Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds!She lives no more,The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath,Still sweeter than beforeWhen nearer death,And brighter every day the smile she wore!Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds,Lament and mourn;How many half-blown buds must close and die;Hopes with the Summer bornAll faded lie,And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!

VERSE: THE UNKNOWN GRAVE

No name to bid us knowWho rests below,No word of death or birth,Only the grass’s wave,Over a mound of earth,Over a nameless grave.Did this poor wandering heartIn pain depart?Longing, but all too late,For the calm home again,Where patient watchers wait,And still will wait in vain.Did mourners come in scorn,And thus forlorn,Leave him, with grief and shame.To silence and decay,And hide the tarnished nameOf the unconscious clay?It may be from his sideHis loved ones died,And last of some bright band,(Together now once more,)He sought his home, the landWhere they had gone before.No matter – limes have madeAs cool a shade,And lingering breezes passAs tenderly and slow,As if beneath the grassA monarch slept below.No grief, though loud and deep,Could stir that sleep;And earth and heaven tellOf rest that shall not cease,Where the cold world’s farewellFades into endless peace.

VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART

With echoing steps the worshippersDeparted one by one;The organ’s pealing voice was stilled,The vesper hymn was done;The shadows fell from roof and arch,Dim was the incensed air,One lamp alone with trembling ray,Told of the Presence there!In the dark church she knelt alone;Her tears were falling fast;“Help, Lord,” she cried, “the shades of deathUpon my soul are cast!Have I not shunned the path of sin,And chosen the better part?”What voice came through the sacred air? —“My child, give me thy Heart!”“Have I not laid before Thy shrineMy wealth, oh Lord?” she cried;“Have I kept aught of gems or gold,To minister to pride?Have I not bade youth’s joys retire,And vain delights depart?” —But sad and tender was the voice —“My child, give me thy Heart!”“Have I not, Lord, gone day by dayWhere Thy poor children dwell;And carried help, and gold, and food?Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well!From many a house, from many a soul,My hand bids care depart:” —More sad, more tender, was the voice —“My child, give me thy Heart!”“Have I not worn my strength awayWith fast and penance sore?Have I not watched and wept?” she cried;“Did Thy dear Saints do more?Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord,And won in Heaven my part?” —It echoed louder in her soul —“My child, give me thy Heart!”“For I have loved thee with a loveNo mortal heart can show;A love so deep, my Saints in heavenIts depths can never know:When pierced and wounded on the Cross,Man’s sin and doom were mine,I loved thee with undying love,Immortal and divine!“I love thee ere the skies were spread;My soul bears all thy pains;To gain thy love my sacred HeartIn earthly shrines remains:Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs,Without one gift divine,Give it, my child, thy Heart to me,And it shall rest in mine!”In awe she listened, and the shadePassed from her soul away;In low and trembling voice she cried —“Lord, help me to obey!Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord,That bind and hold my heart;Let it be Thine, and Thine alone,Let none with Thee have part.“Send down, oh Lord, Thy sacred fire!Consume and cleanse the sinThat lingers still within its depths:Let heavenly love begin.That sacred flame Thy Saints have known,Kindle, oh Lord, in me,Thou above all the rest for ever,And all the rest in Thee.”The blessing fell upon her soul;Her angel by her sideKnew that the hour of peace was come;Her soul was purified:The shadows fell from roof and arch,Dim was the incensed air —But Peace went with her as she leftThe sacred Presence there!

VERSE: THE WAYSIDE INN

A little past the villageThe Inn stood, low and white;Green shady trees behind it,And an orchard on the right;Where over the green palingThe red-cheeked apples hung,As if to watch how wearilyThe sign-board creaked and swung.The heavy-laden branches,Over the road hung low,Reflected fruit or blossomFrom the wayside well below;Where children, drawing water,Looked up and paused to see,Amid the apple-branches,A purple Judas Tree.The road stretched winding onwardFor many a weary mile —So dusty foot-sore wanderersWould pause and rest awhile;And panting horses halted,And travellers loved to tellThe quiet of the wayside inn,The orchard, and the well.Here Maurice dwelt; and oftenThe sunburnt boy would standGazing upon the distance,And shading with his handHis eyes, while watching vainlyFor travellers, who might needHis aid to loose the bridle,And tend the weary steed.And once (the boy rememberedThat morning, many a day —The dew lay on the hawthorn,The bird sang on the spray)A train of horsemen, noblerThan he had seen before,Up from the distance galloped,And halted at the door.Upon a milk-white pony,Fit for a faery queen,Was the loveliest little damselHis eyes had ever seen:A serving-man was holdingThe leading rein, to guideThe pony and its mistress,Who cantered by his side.Her sunny ringlets round herA golden cloud had made,While her large hat was keepingHer calm blue eyes in shade;One hand held fast the silken reinsTo keep her steed in check,The other pulled his tangled mane,Or stroked his glossy neck.And as the boy brought water,And loosed the rein, he heardThe sweetest voice that thanked himIn one low gentle word;She turned her blue eyes from him,Looked up, and smiled to seeThe hanging purple blossomsUpon the Judas Tree;And showed it with a gesture,Half pleading, half command,Till he broke the fairest blossom,And laid it in her hand;And she tied it to her saddleWith a ribbon from her hair,While her happy laugh rang gaily,Like silver on the air.But the champing steeds were rested —The horsemen now spurred on,And down the dusty highwayThey vanished and were gone.Years passed, and many a travellerPaused at the old inn-door,But the little milk-white ponyAnd the child returned no more.Years passed, the apple-branchesA deeper shadow shed;And many a time the Judas Tree,Blossom and leaf, lay dead;When on the loitering western breezeCame the bells’ merry sound,And flowery arches rose, and flagsAnd banners waved around.Maurice stood there expectant:The bridal train would staySome moments at the inn-door,The eager watchers say;They come – the cloud of dust draws near —’Mid all the state and pride,He only sees the golden hairAnd blue eyes of the bride.The same, yet, ah, still fairer;He knew the face once moreThat bent above the pony’s neckYears past at that inn-door:Her shy and smiling eyes looked round,Unconscious of the place,Unconscious of the eager gazeHe fixed upon her face.He plucked a blossom from the tree —The Judas Tree – and castIts purple fragrance towards the Bride,A message from the Past.The signal came, the horses plunged —Once more she smiled around:The purple blossom in the dustLay trampled on the ground.Again the slow years fleeted,Their passage only knownBy the height the Passion-flowerAround the porch had grown;And many a passing travellerPaused at the old inn-door,But the bride, so fair and blooming,The bride returned no more.One winter morning, Maurice,Watching the branches bare,Rustling and waving dimlyIn the grey and misty air,Saw blazoned on a carriageOnce more the well-known shield,The stars and azure fleurs-de-lisUpon a silver field.He looked – was that pale woman,So grave, so worn, so sad,The child, once young and smiling,The bride, once fair and glad?What grief had dimmed that glory,And brought that dark eclipseUpon her blue eyes’ radiance,And paled those trembling lips?What memory of past sorrow,What stab of present pain,Brought that deep look of anguish,That watched the dismal rain,That watched (with the absent spiritThat looks, yet does not see)The dead and leafless branchesUpon the Judas Tree.The slow dark months crept onwardUpon their icy way,’Till April broke in showersAnd Spring smiled forth in May;Upon the apple-blossomsThe sun shone bright again,When slowly up the highwayCame a long funeral train.The bells toiled slowly, sadly,For a noble spirit fled;Slowly, in pomp and honour,They bore the quiet dead.Upon a black-plumed chargerOne rode, who held a shield,Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lisShone on a silver field.’Mid all that homage givenTo a fluttering heart at rest,Perhaps an honest sorrowDwelt only in one breast.One by the inn-door standingWatched with fast-dropping tearsThe long procession passing,And thought of bygone years,The boyish, silent homageTo child and bride unknown,The pitying tender sorrowKept in his heart alone,Now laid upon the coffinWith a purple flower, might beTold to the cold dead sleeper;The rest could only seeA fragrant purple blossom,Plucked from a Judas Tree.

VERSE: VOICES OF THE PAST

You wonder that my tears should flowIn listening to that simple strain;That those unskilful sounds should fillMy soul with joy and pain —How can you tell what thoughts it stirsWithin my heart again?You wonder why that common phrase,So all unmeaning to your ear,Should stay me in my merriest mood,And thrill my soul to hear —How can you tell what ancient charmHas made me hold it dear?You marvel that I turn awayFrom all those flowers so fair and bright,And gaze at this poor herb, till tearsArise and dim my sight —You cannot tell how every leafBreathes of a past delight.You smile to see me turn and speakWith one whose converse you despise;You do not see the dreams of oldThat with his voice arise —How can you tell what links have madeHim sacred in my eyes?Oh, these are Voices of the Past,Links of a broken chain,Wings that can bear me back to TimesWhich cannot come again —Yet God forbid that I should loseThe echoes that remain!

VERSE: THE DARK SIDE

Thou hast done well, perhaps,To lift the bright disguise,And lay the bitter truthBefore our shrinking eyes;When evil crawls belowWhat seems so pure and fair,Thine eyes are keen and trueTo find the serpent there:And yet – I turn away;Thy task is not divine —The evil angels lookOn earth with eyes like thine.Thou hast done well, perhaps,To show how closely woundDark threads of sin and selfWith our best deeds are found.How great and noble hearts,Striving for lofty aims,Have still some earthly cordA meaner spirit claims;And yet – although thy taskIs well and fairly done,Methinks for such as thouThere is a holier one.Shadows there are, who dwellAmong us, yet apart,Deaf to the claim of God,Or kindly human heart;Voices of earth and heavenCall, but they turn away,And Love, through such black night,Can see no hope of day;And yet – our eyes are dim,And thine are keener far —Then gaze till thou canst seeThe glimmer of some star.The black stream flows along,Whose waters we despise —Show us reflected thereSome fragment of the skies;’Neath tangled thorns and briars,(The task is fit for thee,)Seek for the hidden flowers,We are too blind to see;Then will I thy great giftA crown and blessing call;Angels look thus on men,And God sees good in all!

VERSE: A FIRST SORROW

Arise! this day shall shine,For evermore,To thee a star divine,On Time’s dark shore.Till now thy soul has beenAll glad and gay:Bid it awake, and lookAt grief to-day!No shade has come betweenThee and the sun;Like some long childish dreamThy life has run:But now the stream has reachedA dark, deep sea,And Sorrow, dim and crowned,Is waiting thee.Each of God’s soldiers bearsA sword divine:Stretch out thy trembling handsTo-day for thine!To each anointed PriestGod’s summons came:Oh, Soul, he speaks to-dayAnd calls thy name.Then, with slow reverent step,And beating heart,From out thy joyous days,Thou must depart.And, leaving all behind,Come forth, alone,To join the chosen bandAround the throne.Raise up thine eyes – be strong,Nor cast awayThe crown, that God has givenThy soul to-day!

VERSE: MURMURS

Why wilt thou make bright musicGive forth a sound of pain?Why wilt thou weave fair flowersInto a weary chain?Why turn each cool grey shadowInto a world of fears?Why say the winds are wailing?Why call the dewdrops tears?The voices of happy nature,And the Heaven’s sunny gleam,Reprove thy sick heart’s fancies,Upbraid thy foolish dream.Listen, and I will tell theeThe song Creation sings,From the humming of bees in the heather,To the flutter of angels’ wings.An echo rings for ever,The sound can never cease;It speaks to God of glory,It speaks to Earth of peace.Not alone did angels sing itTo the poor shepherds’ ear;But the spherèd Heavens chant it,While listening ages hear.Above thy peevish wailingRises that holy song;Above Earth’s foolish clamour,Above the voice of wrong.No creature of God’s too lowlyTo murmur peace and praise:When the starry nights grow silent,Then speak the sunny days.So leave thy sick heart’s fancies,And lend thy little voiceTo the silver song of gloryThat bids the world rejoice.

VERSE: GIVE

See the rivers flowingDownwards to the sea,Pouring all their treasuresBountiful and free —Yet to help their givingHidden springs arise;Or, if need be, showersFeed them from the skies!Watch the princely flowersTheir rich fragrance spread,Load the air with perfumes,From their beauty shed —Yet their lavish spendingLeaves them not in dearth,With fresh life replenishedBy their mother earth!Give thy heart’s best treasures —From fair Nature learn;Give thy love – and ask not,Wait not a return!And the more thou spendestFrom thy little store,With a double bounty,God will give thee more.

VERSE: MY JOURNAL

It is a dreary evening;The shadows rise and fall:With strange and ghostly changes,They flicker on the wall.Make the charred logs burn brighter;I will show you, by their blaze,The half-forgotten recordOf bygone things and days.Bring here the ancient volume;The clasp is old and worn,The gold is dim and tarnished,And the faded leaves are torn.The dust has gathered on it —There are so few who careTo read what Time has writtenOf joy and sorrow there.Look at the first fair pages;Yes – I remember all:The joys now seem so trivial,The griefs so poor and small.Let us read the dreams of gloryThat childish fancy made;Turn to the next few pages,And see how soon they fade.Here, where still waiting, dreaming,For some ideal Life,The young heart all unconsciousHad entered on the strife.See how this page is blotted:What – could those tears be mine?How coolly I can read you,Each blurred and trembling line.Now I can reason calmly,And, looking back again,Can see divinest meaningThreading each separate pain.Here strong resolve – how broken;Rash hope, and foolish fear,And prayers, which God in pityRefused to grant or hear.Nay – I will turn the pagesTo where the tale is toldOf how a dawn divinerFlushed the dark clouds with gold.And see, that light has gildedThe story – nor shall set;And, though in mist and shadow,You know I see it yet.Here – well, it does not matter,I promised to read all;I know not why I falter,Or why my tears should fall;You see each grief is noted;Yet it was better so —I can rejoice to-day – the painWas over, long ago.I read – my voice is failing,But you can understandHow the heart beat that guidedThis weak and trembling hand.Pass over that long struggle,Read where the comfort came,Where the first time is writtenWithin the book your name.Again it comes, and oftener,Linked, as it now must be,With all the joy or sorrowThat Life may bring to me.So all the rest – you know it:Now shut the clasp again,And put aside the recordOf bygone hours of pain.The dust shall gather on it,I will not read it more:Give me your hand – what was itWe were talking of before?I know not why – but tell meOf something gay and bright.It is strange – my heart is heavy,And my eyes are dim to-night.

VERSE: A CHAIN

The bond that links our souls together;Will it last through stormy weather?Will it moulder and decayAs the long hours pass away?Will it stretch if Fate divide us,When dark and weary hours have tried us?Oh, if it look too poor and slightLet us break the links to-night!It was not forged by mortal hands,Or clasped with golden bars and bands;Save thine and mine, no other eyesThe slender link can recognise:In the bright light it seems to fade —And it is hidden in the shade;While Heaven nor Earth have never heard,Or solemn vow, or plighted word.Yet what no mortal hand could make,No mortal power can ever break:What words or vows could never do,No words or vows can make untrue;And if to other hearts unknownThe dearer and the more our own,Because too sacred and divineFor other eyes, save thine and mine.And see, though slender, it is madeOf Love and Trust, and can they fade?While, if too slight it seem, to bearThe breathings of the summer air,We know that it could bear the weightOf a most heavy heart of late,And as each day and hour flewThe stronger for its burthen grew.And, too, we know and feel againIt has been sanctified by pain,For what God deigns to try with sorrowHe means not to decay to-morrow;But through that fiery trial lastWhen earthly ties and bonds are past;What slighter things dare not endureWill make our Love more safe and pure.Love shall be purified by Pain,And Pain be soothed by Love again:So let us now take heart and goCheerfully on, through joy and woe;No change the summer sun can bring,Or the inconstant skies of spring,Or the bleak winter’s stormy weather,For we shall meet them, Love, together!

VERSE: THE PILGRIMS

The way is long and dreary,The path is bleak and bare;Our feet are worn and weary,But we will not despair.More heavy was Thy burthen,More desolate Thy way; —Oh Lamb of God who takestThe sin of the world away,Have mercy on us.The snows lie thick around usIn the dark and gloomy night;And the tempest wails above us,And the stars have hid their light;But blacker was the darknessRound Calvary’s Cross that day; —Oh Lamb of God who takestThe sin of the world away,Have mercy on us.Our hearts are faint with sorrow,Heavy and hard to bear;For we dread the bitter morrow,But we will not despair:Thou knowest all our anguish,And Thou wilt bid it cease, —Oh Lamb of God who takestThe sin of the world away,Give us Thy Peace!

VERSE: INCOMPLETENESS

Nothing resting in its own completenessCan have worth or beauty: but aloneBecause it leads and tends to farther sweetness,Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.Spring’s real glory dwells not in the meaning,Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;But is hidden in her tender leaningTo the Summer’s richer wealth of flowers.Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowlyInto Day, which floods the world with light;Twilight’s mystery is so sweet and holyJust because it ends in starry Night.Childhood’s smiles unconscious graces borrowFrom Strife, that in a far-off future lies;And angel glances (veiled now by Life’s sorrow)Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.Life is only bright when it proceedethTowards a truer, deeper Life above;Human Love is sweetest when it leadethTo a more divine and perfect Love.Learn the mystery of Progression duly:Do not call each glorious change, Decay;But know we only hold our treasures truly,When it seems as if they passed away.Nor dare to blame God’s gifts for incompleteness;In that want their beauty lies: they rollTowards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,Bearing onward man’s reluctant soul.

VERSE: A LEGEND OF BREGENZ

Girt round with rugged mountainsThe fair Lake Constance lies;In her blue heart reflectedShine back the starry skies;And, watching each white cloudletFloat silently and slow,You think a piece of HeavenLies on our earth below!Midnight is there: and Silence,Enthroned in Heaven, looks downUpon her own calm mirror,Upon a sleeping town:For Bregenz, that quaint cityUpon the Tyrol shore,Has stood above Lake Constance,A thousand years and more.Her battlements and towers,From off their rocky steep,Have cast their trembling shadowFor ages on the deep:Mountain, and lake, and valley,A sacred legend know,Of how the town was saved, one night,Three hundred years ago.Far from her home and kindred,A Tyrol maid had fled,To serve in the Swiss valleys,And toil for daily bread;And every year that fleetedSo silently and fast,Seemed to bear farther from herThe memory of the Past.She served kind, gentle masters,Nor asked for rest or change;Her friends seemed no more new ones,Their speech seemed no more strange;And when she led her cattleTo pasture every day,She ceased to look and wonderOn which side Bregenz lay.She spoke no more of Bregenz,With longing and with tears:Her Tyrol home seemed fadedIn a deep mist of years;She heeded not the rumoursOf Austrian war and strife;Each day she rose contented,To the calm toils of life.Yet, when her master’s childrenWould clustering round her stand,She sang them ancient balladsOf her own native land;And when at morn and eveningShe knelt before God’s throne,The accents of her childhoodRose to her lips alone.And so she dwelt: the valleyMore peaceful year by year;When suddenly strange portents,Of some great deed seemed near.The golden corn was bendingUpon its fragile stalk,While farmers, heedless of their fields,Paced up and down in talk.The men seemed stern and altered,With looks cast on the ground;With anxious faces, one by one,The women gathered round;All talk of flax, or spinning,Or work, was put away;The very children seemed afraidTo go alone to play.One day, out in the meadowWith strangers from the town,Some secret plan discussing,The men walked up and down.Yet, now and then seemed watching,A strange uncertain gleam,That looked like lances ’mid the trees,That stood below the stream.At eve they all assembled,Then care and doubt were fled;With jovial laugh they feasted;The board was nobly spread.The elder of the villageRose up, his glass in hand,And cried, “We drink the downfall“Of an accursed land!“The night is growing darker,“Ere one more day is flown,“Bregenz, our foemen’s stronghold,“Bregenz shall be our own!”The women shrank in terror,(Yet Pride, too, had her part,)But one poor Tyrol maidenFelt death within her heart.Before her, stood fair Bregenz;Once more her towers arose;What were the friends beside her?Only her country’s foes!The faces of her kinsfolk,The days of childhood flown,The echoes of her mountains,Reclaimed her as their own!Nothing she heard around her,(Though shouts rang forth again,)Gone were the green Swiss valleys,The pasture, and the plain;Before her eyes one vision,And in her heart one cry,That said, “Go forth, save Bregenz,And then, if need be, die!”With trembling haste and breathless,With noiseless step she sped;Horses and weary cattleWere standing in the shed;She loosed the strong white charger,That fed from out her hand,She mounted, and she turned his headTowards her native land.Out – out into the darkness —Faster, and still more fast;The smooth grass flies behind her,The chestnut wood is past;She looks up; clouds are heavy:Why is her steed so slow? —Scarcely the wind beside them,Can pass them as they go.“Faster!” she cries, “Oh faster!”Eleven the church-bells chime:“Oh God,” she cries, “help Bregenz,And bring me there in time!”But louder than bells’ ringing,Or lowing of the kine,Grows nearer in the midnightThe rushing of the Rhine.Shall not the roaring watersTheir headlong gallop check?The steed draws back in terror,She leans upon his neckTo watch the flowing darkness;The bank is high and steep;One pause – he staggers forward,And plunges in the deep.She strives to pierce the blackness,And looser throws the rein;Her steed must breast the watersThat dash above his mane.How gallantly, how nobly,He struggles through the foam,And see – in the far distance,Shine out the lights of home!Up the steep banks he bears her,And now, they rush againTowards the heights of Bregenz,That tower above the plain.They reach the gate of Bregenz,Just as the midnight rings,And out come serf and soldierTo meet the news she brings.Bregenz is saved!  Ere daylightHer battlements are manned;Defiance greets the armyThat marches on the land.And if to deeds heroicShould endless fame be paid,Bregenz does well to honourThe noble Tyrol maid.Three hundred years are vanished,And yet upon the hillAn old stone gateway rises,To do her honour still.And there, when Bregenz womenSit spinning in the shade,They see in quaint old carvingThe Charger and the Maid.And when, to guard old Bregenz,By gateway, street, and tower,The warder paces all night long,And calls each passing hour;“Nine,” “ten,” “eleven,” he cries aloud,And then (Oh crown of Fame!)When midnight pauses in the skies,He calls the maiden’s name!