I drew my chair beside the evening hearth
Whereon the fire, soft-flickering, made a sound
Like far-off murmuring waters; while without,
The elements waged war, and smote the roof,
And hurled the drift against the window pane
With shock, and shriek and moan of passing souls,
But, closing up my senses to the din,
I opened wide before me a huge tome,
Allbound in parchment, with 'strong, brazen clasps,
O'er whose black-letter pages in old times
Cowled monks with pious zeal serenely dozed,
And, dying, left upon the convent shelves
To this our day.-Therein I slowly read
This quaint old legend.
Of ancient Wartburg,-where stern Luther once
With Satan waged a long and valiant fight
And came off victor-in a day long past,
An old king dwelt, who over the wide land,
A land of forests, reigned a lonely king.
No queen beside him; childless, widowéd,
With one sole kinsman, and a noiseful train
Of idle courtiers, there he heavily
Wore the slow years away.
The land in frost, and all the streams were dumb,
And all the forests lay waist-deep in snow,
And none could ride abroad, the king would bid
His courtiers round him in his stately hall,
And make great banquets, holding wassail high,
Eating and drinking, listening to old tales
Of love and tournament, and minstrel-songs,
From eve till morn; but to his people's wants,
Their cold and hunger and scant bread, he gave
No kingly thought.
When sullen winter waned,
And the huge drifts sank down, and all the streams
Burst into anthems, casting off his sloth,
The king too, woke, and with loud voice of cheer,
Forth from his towers with dogs and hunters rode,
And hunted the wild boar and wolf and bear,
Till all the forest rang with pealing horns
And bay of hounds. But e'en then to his realm
Nor to his people, wasted by disease
And hunger's gnawings, gave he any heed;
Nor heard their cries, nor sent them any meat,
Nor vext his royal ease.
Heavily yawning, grim with discontent,
Thus to his kinsmen spoke the king: "Give ear,
Ludowick for with weariness I die!
What profit me the minstrel's nightly songs,
Or tales of jousts and giants, if mine eyes,
Weighted with heaviness, and loathing light,
Must close in sleep! What profit, when I ride
Abroad to follow the wild boar and bear,
My dogs and hunters round me, if my soul
Be vexed by crowds loud clamoring at my heels
Crying 'We starve,' until my very steed
Leaps at the brawl, and on his haunches rears?
By holy rood! I'll take another wife
And get me children, rosy boys and girls
That these grim halls may brighten in the sun
Of woman's smiles, and ring with children's shouts
And merry laughter. Then my days will be
Days of delight, not all the winter's snows
That shut us in, nor all the clamoring crowds
Of begging swine can trouble!"
Smiles on his face but anger at his heart,-
Answered the king, "Right royal is the thought!
Lo, I will aid thee!" But within himself
He sware an oath, "There shall not come an heir
To take away my heritage-my crown
And kingdom!"-vowing by dark plot to mar
The old king's plans.
That crowned a mountain-crest, up whose steep sides
The king oft spurred when hunting the wild boar,
A fair girl dwelt-sole remnant of her race.
No father watched her as she grew in years;
No tender mother folded her to sleep;
Sister's nor brother's love made glad her days.
An ancient nurse her one companion was,
And two old huntsmen, tough and stalwart men,
Whose prowess in the forest and the field
Her larder stored and hunger kept at bay,
Guarded her youth with reverent love and care.
Here safe she dwelt, unknowing of alarm,
Growing in beauty as she grew in years,
A princess of the wilds.
It chanced the king
One morn beheld the fair Elizabeth,
Tending her garden by the ruined gate
Of the old castle, and, in pleased surprise,
Paused all unseen to gaze. Her hair, unbound,
Crowning her forehead with an aureole,
Fell, a full shower of sunshine, to her feet, Mantling her all in gold. Her small white hands, Glancing among the flowers, seemed keeping time To the sweet cadence of the melody
That to herself in clear, low voice she sang.
"O, holy mother!" sang Elizabeth,
While silently the king his bridle drew,
And holding on the maid his royal gaze
Sat listening, breathless, charmed, all ear, all eye.
"O holy mother, hear my prayer to thee! Stoop from thy throne of light and comfort me. Many the lovers that for others be;
Sweet Mary, mother, I have only thee!
"O virgin blessed! for the sake of One,—
Thine own loved, crucified and risen Son,
Come in thy holy presence unto me;
Sweet Mary, mother, I have none but thee !
Come, holy mother! See, I stand alone.
They who were near to me are dead and gone;
Many the lovers that for others be,
Sweet Mary, mother, whom have I but thee ?"
Ended Elizabeth her song; a smile
Mantling her beauty, as, with dainty choice,
She gathered roses for her bower-the white
The king a great sigh heaved, and to himself,-
"Sweeter and holier than the Virgin, thou,
In thy lone life, fair maid! God give me grace!
Thou shalt be wife to me, and all my realm
Shall call thee queen!"
He stirred his waiting steed;
He softly paced, with slow steps drawing nigh
The unconscious maid, as men draw near a shrine
Where only saints should kneel. Elizabeth,
Of stranger presence suddenly aware,
Withdrew a step, and flinging back the gold
Of her rich tresses, turned her large blue eyes,
Startled and wondering, on the king; the rose
To lily fading on her fair young cheek,
As she bethought her of her guardians, far
In the wild forest, and herself alone.
"Nay, gentle maid!" in haste to calm her fear,
The monarch said "I am thy king! Fear not
That I can do thee wrong!"
In awe at this great name, still mutely gazed
In the king's face, while over all her own
Gathered the light of slowly dawning trust,
Till, smiling to his smile, she nearer drew,
And, with sweet confidence and artless speech,
Unto his questions made reply, till she
Had told him all her life.
His heart all moved and warmed, "No more alone,
Sweet, nun-like maid, in these old ruined towers
Shalt thou abide. Thy king hath need of thee,
Elizabeth!"
There then among her flowers,
With the sweet light of heaven upon her face,
She listened, trembling, pleased and half-afraid,
Unto the old king's wooing; and was won.
Suns rose and set, when back returned the king;
With him the bishop of the land, all clad
In priestly robe and ermine. Entering
The roofless chapel, there, among the tombs
And rusted arms and banners of her race,
Elizabeth, all fair and lovely, gave
Her hand unto the king, and they were wed.
So, in her golden youth, Elizabeth,
Her ancient nurse, and her two huntsmen, passed
To royal Wartburg; leaving her old towers
Unto the owls and bats. And she was queen.
And the king loved and cherished her ; and all
His courtiers paid her reverence; and said,
"So sweet a lady never wore a crown,—
Now hath the land a queen!”
Hated Elizabeth within his heart,
And there was wailing in the hills and vales;
Gaunt famine through the land crept on apace,
For every day the corn grew less and less,
While hunger every day grew more and more.
Yet still the king heard not, nor heeded it,
Nor gave the people meat. But when at last
The fainting crowds that hemmed the royal towers,
Sent up the cry each day, "We starve! We starve !"
It reached the ears of the young queen; and all
Her heart went weeping; and she called her maids,
Bidding them bring her stores of meat and bread;
Then, the steep rocks descending, all day long
She fed the people; sending them away
Ceased not their spying, told it to the king;
And filled his ears with tales of waste and loss,
And disregardings of the royal will,
Blaming the queen. Thereat the king grew wroth ;
And smote his thigh, and sware an oath that none
Should thwart his will, even were she a queen;
And, summoning Elizabeth, broke out,
His face aflame with anger;
It is not fit a queen should shame herself
Herding with filthy beggars! Mark me now!
Go spin among your maids! More fitting that
For you, than feeding swine!" With that he turned
And strode out to his hunters, and rode forth,
And hunted in the forest.
And sore of heart, Elizabeth, in haste,
Fled to her inmost bower; and there weighed
The king's hard words, debating with herself,
And holding down the anger that would rise,
Till duty won. “The king's hest I will do !
Who am I, to rebel?"
Around her, then, she ruled them; and she span ;
And with the needle wrought; not stirring forth
From her own bower, but setting all her will
To work the royal hest and please the king.
So for three days she toiled, and strove to shut
Her ears against the cries that all day long,
Upward wild-shrilling, pierced her like a glaive;
Her young heart dropping blood at every cry,
And all her fair, sweet face bedewed with tears.
Then she rose up, and to her watchful maids,
All glowing bright with generous courage, said,
"Whether it be God's will that these should starve
I cannot tell, but I will give them meat!"
Mantled and coifed, her basket on her arm,
Well-stored with viands, forth the young queen went,
Leaving her maids behind her, that no blame
Might on them fall, if any blame should chance.
And thrid the castle-gate, and crossed the moat.
Gaining the open cliff, well-pleased she stood
A moment gazing on the lovely scene
Wide-stretching from its base; when, with light foot
And smiling face, essaying the descent,
The noise of clattering hoofs smote on her ear,
And straightway toward the bridge that spanned the moat, Came the grim king hard-riding; at his side
The plotting kinsman; his cold, evil eyes
Watching the young queen's frightened face, with look
Malignant. Startled, trembling, the pale queen,
With one swift glance, had neath her mantle hid
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