Ulric; Or, the Voices

Front matter

ULRIC; OR, THE VOICES.

Entered, according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by D. APPLETON & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York.

AuxTOC|title=Cantos|

Canto I

'Twas fifteen hundred years ago: How strangely swift the ages flow! With all their passion and their roar, Like billows breaking on the shore! And we, who watch and muse, forget The wide, wild tide is foaming yet, And bears us onward and away, Like bubbles of the bursting spray, Or clouds that melted yesterday.

'Twas fifteen hundred years ago, When ope'd the rocky tomb—and lo!

He—the rejected and the slain— Walked, calm and free, the earth again. The very grave its dead hath given; Its Lord, the very throne of heaven; Yet, as before, man's life, misspent, Calls from the earth for punishment; Still, mocking the Omnipotent, He scorns the proffered prize, A sinner and an infidel, Each day his birthright doth he sell, Seeks, still forewarned, the fowler's spell, And takes the very path to Hell, With open eyes!"

Where, slowly flowing, winds its way, By wood and plain, the modest Spree, And bathes the castle and the wall Of Brandenbourg's old capital, What time the elector's princely hand With the new faith had filled the land, And every priest and every dome, With solemn pomp, had drawn from Rome,—

Thus mused the soldier—not alone One whom his sovereign well might own; For earthly glory, too, had shone Round his victorious sword! But soldier of the cross—to fight Against the dark ones of sin's night, And put Hell's treacherous chief to flight, With Christ's almighty word.

And now, to old St. Nicholai, The enlightened crowds around him hie, Where Luther to the pulpit came, Kindling again the ancient flame, In streams as broad as that of yore On Palestina's holy shore, Where Mede and Elamite and Crete Did, in one common centre, meet On Pentecost, at Peter's feet.

Amid the throng, in thoughtful mood, The young Rittmeister silent stood, And, with attentive ear,

Against a column's lofty base, With folded arms and motionless, Leaned, each calm truth to hear. St. Paul! it was a sight to see, Of Christ so firm a votary; Though his rich garb and noble mien, Spoke one not strange to joy terrene, But formed to tread each brilliant scene Of passion and of pride; And formed to be a welcome guest, Among the highest and the best, That seek, alas! in vain, their rest On pleasure's sparkling tide. A child of fortune and of fame, Ulric von Rosenberg his name, And he the favored heir Of many a rood of fertile land, And many a vassal's faithful hand, And many a castle, strong and grand, And park and garden fair. And at the marked and earnest grace, And the calm beauty of his face,

More than one heart, in vain, That strove from earthly thoughts to rise, Caught by those dark, expressive eyes, Forgot its own immortal weal, And Heav'n itself, sometimes, to steal A secret look again.

And now the simple rites conclude; And now the pious multitude Homeward their footsteps bend; All save the holier, chosen few, Who lingered, when the rest withdrew, To take the sacrament.

And who shall tell what Ulric felt, When at the altar low he knelt, In deep repentant prayer; And took the bread—and took the wine, In worship sad, as sacred sign, And thought he saw a glory shine, As if in person his divine Redeemer had been there.

And hark! a voice! "Ulric!" it said, Follow my footsteps undismayed; Of earth—of Hell, be not afraid; Let sin—let sorrow cease. Believe, and to your faith be true, Your heart I strengthen and renew. These words I've spoken unto you, That you may know my peace. And what you ask, sincere, from Heaven, And in my name, it shall be given. It shall given, although it be Mountains to cast into the sea."

He rose, when, 'gainst a column leaning, His lighted features full of meaning, With folded arms upon his breast, And scornful smile but ill suppressed, He saw his deadliest enemy, Steinfort, who came the rite to see, In insult and in mockery! Steinfort, his cousin, and co-heir To his old uncle's fortune fair.

But Ulric, wrapped in holy trance, Scarce gave his foe a passing glance. Sublimer things employed his thought. And when he turned and left the spot, It was as he had seen him not; Or, with a pulse unstirred and even, Had seen, had pitied, and forgiven.

And now with thoughtful step and slow, Alone did Ulric homeward go, And pondered deep and pondered long, On his past life—so blind—so wrong. On many a deed, of import slight To those who grope in reason's light, But to the few who see aright, As poison foul, and black as night. And inly prayed that God would bless His sacrifice of righteousness! Keep him from leprous sin apart, And write His laws upon his heart. And so he reached the palace gate, His home of almost royal state.

'Twas noon—and at the end of May; And thus another well-spent day Was fleeting sinless by: And, full of holy quiet, at An open casement now he sat, Lost in a reverie. And as he careless gazed around Upon the garden's beauteous ground, And let his eyes unconscious rove Through each wild path and stately grove, And thought how wondrous fair and bright They glittered in the warm sunlight; And as the luscious perfume blew, In grateful clouds, the window through, He felt come over him a change— He knew not what—but passing strange.

These waving woods—this palace fair— Castle and town—and vintage rare—" Thus ran his thought: "and I am heir! A pretty thing to own! My uncle hath a lusty health—

Mine were, in faith, a noble wealth— Were he but gone! Black wish! and whither would it drive me? God grant the old man may survive me!"

With quicker breath he leaned to bare His forehead to the cooling air, And quicker flowed his troubled thought.

And if these pious dreams be nought! Of lazy priests, the canting lie— A fable for the nursery! Oh, Heaven forgive! thy light restore me! What chilling shadow hath come o'er me?"

He knew not what his spirit swayed, So darkly on his fancy weighed— His feeling soiled—his soul betrayed, And down from Heaven drew; But He—the Dark One—Prince of Sin! Who sudden stood the room within, And round him breathed his vapor thin

Of fleshly lust—He knew. He saw his wily arts o'erthrown, Saw from his toils a victim flown, But ever claimed him for his own; Had marked, in many a year by-gone, Th' aspiring Christian well! And all the day, upon his track, Had watched, resolved to bring him back, Into the path of Hell. And now, unseen and still, did glide Close to the youth's unconscious side, And through each vain disguise, With cruel hate and devilish art, Deep—deep into his victim's heart, Did pierce his fearful eyes.

Oh, Holy Cross! what have we here? A precious mixture, deep and clear! And heavenward soars our cavalier! Must earth and sin forget! Hell hath no charm for such a heart! Faith shields it from the tempter's dart:

Oh! ho!—ha! ha! I think we part, My pious saint, not yet!"

But hark! what blended, rapid sound Through all the palace spreads around? And now, a bell convulsive rings, And now the door wide open swings, And a pale, stammering servant brings, With swift, fear-quickened tread, The stunning, wild intelligence— Your uncle, sir, His Excellence, Who but an hour ago, from hence, To ride went forth—is dead."

He clasped his hands with 'wildered start; What strong emotion, through his heart, Swift streamed without alloy! Say, was it love? or blind surprise? Or grief, that filled his flashing eyes? No! it was what, who grasps a prize, Feels in his breast resistless rise— Twas triumph! it was joy.

Away," he said. The man withdrew. But then, remorse his bosom through Pierced quick, and mingled shame. He thrust the bolt across the door— He knelt him down upon the floor, And in that holy name, Prayed, with a deep sincerity, From such foul sin his soul to free, And bid himself in torture die, Or bid, of woe and beggary, To drink the chalice full— Rather than, all beneath the sky, Of splendor, at the price, to buy, Of his immortal soul!

And from his knees he scarce arose, When once again a rapid buzz Of mingling voices strikes his ear, And forth he went the news to hear, When lo! again the messenger! Yet now, in truth, not pale with fear, But wreathed with smiles his lips to tell

The accident as it befell. His Excellency back had come; Alive and well had reached his home. Report had named him for the groom, Who, in a sudden fit, had died, While riding by his master's side.

And oh! if from a human heart All self were ever thrust apart, If ever joy and candor spoke Tn words from human lips that broke; If ever rose a prayer sincere, And fit for Heav'n's approving ear, It rose from Ulric, when he pressed His aged uncle to his breast.

But from his breast the rising prayer, Cut sudden short, dispersed in air, And, for the peace that o'er him streamed, Now rose revenge, and fury gleamed; For scornful Steinfort, passing by, Low whispering, waited not reply:

In faith, Count Ulric. thou wast nigh The master and the lord to be Of many a noble seigneurie! But lo! again thy uncle’s face! Ha! ha! enjoy thy glad embrace!"

What mutters Steinfort?" >>"All men know, Dear uncle, him my constant foe. And only thy supreme command Shields him from my indignant hand. I know not why it is my fate To suffer his audacious hate. His haughty look, his rancorous tongue, Pursue my footsteps all day long; And yet I never did him wrong."

Tush! he is good. Too quick art thou; Such quarrel, for my sake, forego. Obey! for I will have it so!"

Well! well! dear uncle, I will try, If love hath any sorcery, To save me from his evil eye!"

../Notes

Canto II

With heart disturbed and forehead hot, Forth Ulric went, alone, and sought The garden's grateful shade; A spot with massive walls surrounded, And from the outward city bounded, Where thicket wild and tangled wood, All silence and all solitude, A Paradise had made; As calm, as if the verdant sod By human feet had ne'er been trod; As silent, as its ground might be Some lonely island in the sea. So well did art the charm express Of nature and her loveliness; And there the head with thinking tired,

And there the heart with passion fired, Found strange relief to rest, Or soft delight alone to rove Through sylvan glade, and shadowy grove, That knew its better springs to move, And charm to peace, and touch with love The hot and angry breast.

What! Mahmoud! What! Come! Sirrah! Come!" Unloosed the leash the obedient groom; His favorite dog, in frolic mood, With love inspired and gratitude, Flew to his side with bounding feet, Frantic his glad caress to meet. Not his the wily courtier's grace: His buoyant joy—his rough embrace, The master's costly dress deface.

Small heed gives he, but leans to feel The soothing sweetness through him steal, Which, who on earth hath never proved, In loving, when in turn beloved?

Aye, though the dear conviction rise E'en from the poor dog's gentle eyes!

Come, Mahmoud, come! Old honest boy! Thine is no false or fickle joy; Thy virtues all that men possess— Not theirs thy pure unselfishness. In thee, thy love were all as sweet, Couched at the shepherd's humble feet, Sharing the peasant's frugal bread, Ox by the sightless beggar led. Thy heart, alone affectionate, E'en in the palace of the great, Ne'er beats with envy or with hate. Good, good old Mahmoud! Well I may Conjecture all thy tongue would say, Couldst thou but answer. Well I know, Should strike me e'er contempt and woe, Of every servant—aye, and friend, That on my pride and fortune tend, Not one would share, with love like thine, All fate, no matter what, if mine.

For where, beneath the bending sky, Found ever man fidelity? Content through life all pangs to brave, And starve at last upon the grave, More deeply felt, more clear expressed, Than warms the dog's devoted breast."

He said, when, sudden, Steinfort stood Close at his side, in angry mood; Though none might tell or whence or why That brow of cloud—that flashing eye. The dog, in gambols circling round, Leaped to his hand with sportive bound. St. Johann curse the mongrel hound! What, is he mad?" and, with the word, Swept through the air his glittering sword— A growl of wrath—a yell of pain— Poor Mahmoud ne'er will leap again!

And swifter gleamed the fury now Through Ulric's breast and o'er his brow, Than e'er from Heaven the lightning broke,

And struck to flame the quivering oak. Steinfort, enough! I bear it not! We try our quarrel on the spot. Thou art a villain!" To such word," Said Steinfort, "answer thou, my sword! And, by St. Matthew! ere I dine, The dog's base blood shall mix with thine."

They fought, but soon the faithless brand Shivered in Steinfort's furious hand. A moment more, and his life blood Had drenched the verdure where he stood, When Ulric paused, a voice to hear— As music sweet, as morning clear, That fell from Heaven upon his ear:

Ulric, forbear! Thy wrath restrain! Put up thy sword without a stain! Thy master speaks. His will obey! Evil, the wicked man shall slay! I bid thee, in the name of Heaven! Forgive! as thou wouldst be forgiven!"

He listened, and a holy charm Composed his breast, and staid his arm. I do forgive!" he calmly said, And patient sheathed his spotless blade. Steinfort, I leave thee to thy thought; Our quarrel, though I sought it not— Thy hate—thy blindness, I deplore; Go, live, and tempt my soul no more! Poor Mahmoud!"—and he dashed a tear— Thou wast my friend—my comrade dear! And kind were Heaven, if to my vow, It grant another true as thou!"

He went—a statue Steinfort there, Stood fixed in fury and despair; And near him lingered in the shade, With beating heart, a trembling maid; Loulou, whose mother long had swayed, With skill and talent manifold, The costly palace's household. She all had heard—and all had seen— Half hidden in the thicket green.

Canto III

And now with morning’s dewy light, Earth, air, and heaven again are bright, And nature, waking from the night, In freshest beauty glows. Ulric went forth his stroll to take, To mark the silent morning break, The garden's sweetness to inhale, Where mingled, on the balmy gale, The lilac and the rose. But not he went to taste alone The fragrance of the opening dawn, Or mark the dew-drops on the lawn, The lilac's luscious scent. Less pleasing thoughts his mind employ, Disturb his peace, and chase his joy.

Of Steinfort, ere he left his room, With saucy air, the flippant groom, Brought message insolent: Thy uncle, from the hunt to-day, Bids thee, at home, my lord, to stay," And smiling, then did turn away, Already now their horses' feet, In the far distance faint retreat.

Strange message! and with meaning fraught— To something points; I know not what. But, with my uncle, by the rood! Steinfort's hunt bodes me little good. Well! let him hunt, and let him plot! I trust in Heaven, and heed him not."

And, musing thus, he hears the sound Of a light footstep on the ground. And Loulou stood—the gentle maid, With beating heart, and half afraid— An artless girl and sweet. Too artless and too sweet, also,

For her own peace, as she may know, Ere long, and now she sought to throw Herself at Ulric's feet.

Oh, my good lord!—this lonely spot— Heaven grants the interview I sought!" Well, pretty Loulou, well!" A dreadful tale—I overheard Last night—this morning—in a word, I scarce know how to tell!"

Count Ulric, with caressing hand, Smoothed her soft hair, and bade her stand, Compose her pale disorder, and Say all as it befell. And thought that in his life be ne'er Had seen so graceful maid and fair.

A tale of horror, dark to hear, Pours Steinfort in thy uncle’s ear; Thy spotless name he blights by stealth, Incensed that of his future wealth

Thou hast an equal part. Against thee, witnesses bath brought, And now a fearful change hath wrought Within thy uncle's heart, Who thinks that, yesterday, in strife, Thou basely sought Count Steinfort's life; And, quickly conquered, owest thy own To Steinfort's pitying hand alone! And so the groom, by gold won o'er, Brought to thy uncle's presence, swore. 'And if?' cried Steinfort, 'thus for me, Lies wait his foul duplicity; If thus he stake his life for mine, Dear uncle, who can answer thine? Who can his dark design control? For thee, death lurks in every bowl!'

Tongue cannot tell how each false word Thy uncle's jealous bosom stirred; His cheeks first pale, then red appear— With fury now, and now with fear. At length he vowed, this night, to tear

The testament where thou art heir; Thus far I heard—nor longer stayed, But spoke—though but an humble maid, Aloud I spoke, and boldly said; 'The fight had Steinfort's self begun, By Mahmoud's death—by thee 'twas won, Who ne'er didst seek his treacherous life, But gave it, victor, in the strife. With my own eyes I saw the deed, And false was all the Count had said.' Again, oh! may I never see That dreadful look he cast on me. And ere another hour had passed, A message came—I was outcast! I and my mother, from the door Were thrust, and bid return no more. For thee, to-day, they hunt—this night The scribe another will must write. To-morrow thou, alas, wilt be Sent forth in shame and penury— Thy uncle's face no more to see; Thy only trust in pitying Heaven—

Thy fortune all to Steinfort given. Farewell! farewell! my tale is told; Nay, good my lord—I seek not gold."

What seek'st thou then? What can I do, To pay thy friendship, sweet Loulou?"

I ask, my lord, no other pay— I saw—I heard thee yesterday— The words to Mahmoud thou didst say! That every servant—every friend— Did only to thy fortune bend—"

But tell me, Loulou, tell me why, To me, this ardent sympathy? Thy ruin stares thee in the face— Why, in thy thought, finds mine such place?

Oh first, my lord, because the right Is on thy side, all proof despite. And then because, Count Steinfort here, Inspires distrust and chilling fear. And then because—because—that thou"—

She paused—when o'er her cheek and brow, He marked the soft suffusion flow, Her downcast eyes her quickening breath— Her blush, now faded pale as death— Her modest kerchief's heaving fold The farther secret amply told.

And well, in sooth, did Ulric need The voice, before, his virtue's meed. And what that voice did clearly say, Well did he hear, and well obey.

Ulric, behold s simple maid, By guileless heart to love betrayed, Whose artless nature turns to thee,— Sole master of her destiny! Oh, haste thee to the dewy rose, That in the earliest morning blows, And soil its leaves, and rudely tear, And cast its fragments on the air. Go to the cool, transparent tide, That bubbles from the mountain side,

Where pilgrims drink, and there by night Pour poison in its waves of light. On grassy mead, where children play, In life's delightful holiday, Go loosen, ere the morn awake, Mid clustering flowers, the deadly snake; Or where, behind the dungeon's grate, The pallid prisoner meets his fate, Despairing pines or starving dies— Go, goad and mock his miseries. Do these—aye more, and hopeful live; Man may forget, or God forgive! But if thou dare the first instil Into pure heart, the thought of ill, Scorning God's clear, tremendous will, And, from her flight to heaven's throne, Draw one young struggling angel down— Light may'st thou laugh, and careless live— Thou hast stern reckoning yet to give, When, quenched, at last, thy tainted breath, Thou stand'st alone with God and Death."

Through Ulric's heart flew every word. He knew not if he thought or heard.

Loulou! I thank thee! fancy not Thy generous bearing e'er forgot. From Steinfort, heaven my fate will shield; And not so light we soldiers yield. Or if, by wicked arts undone, I wander, outcast and alone, Think not my hope and courage gone. I reck—not I—the lowering blow— My way to carve I well shall know. But thou, young girl, whose generous love By thy own ruin thou dost prove, Thy strongest purpose well must be, Thy native vale again to see. Where, by thy grandsire's hamlet side, Plows peaceful on the Oder's tide. Back thou shalt go, with prayer of mine, May ever flow as gently thine! Thy feeble grandsire's trembling age No more must lose so sweet a page.

Go! Loulou go! I love, in thee, Thy innocence, thy purity. A halo bright, by angels given. Keep it—it lights thy steps to heaven. If e'er thy simple wants require— I am thy brother—or thy sire. And here my purse—with doubly o'er All that thy need requires and more. Nay, not a word—thou will not choose My last and earnest wish refuse. Thy mother may its contents use. Sweet girl! farewell! and if, again, Poor Mahmoud heard my musing strain, I would not tell that every friend Did only to my fortune bend. Such error should be frank confest. Fidelity and truth, 'twere best To seek in Loulou's artless breast."

She went, nor raised her timid eye. One moment Ulric's heart beat high, And heaved the soft, reluctant sigh.

But then, from every weakness free, Regained all virtue's liberty.

And thus the eagle, when he flies, Where meadows spread and forests rise, Beholds the hunter aim below, And in his bosom dreads the blow; But turning, in triumphant flight, Ascends once more his realm of light; On balanced wing floats, calm and even, Unruffled in the azure heaven."

These words of spiritual pride, Through Ulric's mind did subtly glide, Breathed by the shadow at his side, Who smiled to marked his pow'r defied, And thus with ominous hate, inaudible, replied:

Aye! aye! the eagle, when he flies, Where meadows spread and forests rise, Beholds the hunter aim below, And proudly soars above the blow;

Ascends, ha! ha! with loftier flight, His boasted realms of azure light; And floats, on balanced wing and even Earth scorning in the heights of heaven. But, at the last, his wing shall tire, Relax his nerve—and cool his fire, And seek repose, his wearied breast, On earth-bound cliff where hangs his nest. The deadly hunter, following there, Tracks him through all the fields of air; No food shall taste—or slumber know, Till at his feet th' aspiring foe Lies humbled in the dust, and low. Chains those heav'n-cleaving pinions bind. With tangled plume, in cage confined, He sits—the gaze—the laughter of mankind!"

Canto IV

The day sped on and sadly sped, O'er thoughtful Ulric's lonely head, And eve her dewy shadows spread, When from the gay and busy town He wandered pensive and alone. Dark thoughts allured—thoughts dark and new; In vain—in vain he backward drew, Still through his heated mind they flew. Steinfort and his mysterious hate, His uncle—Loulou—his own fate, Down from his height of fortune hurled, The gossip of the heartless world. And, yesterday, for one short hour, His hand had grasped wealth, splendor, power: To-day, thrust forth,—a blackened name—

With insult, poverty, and shame. Onward his musing way he wends, Along the river's graceful bends, Along a narrow winding road, Deep in the forest solitude, Where, through the massive foliage, broke A grove of tall and stately oak, Through whose black shades could scarcely stray, Or sunny beam, or moon's soft ray.

By Heaven!" he said, "I was a fool! I should base Steinfort's worthless soul, On yestermorn, with one sharp blow, Have hurried to the shades below! And, for my uncle, why should I Mourn him, whene'er he choose to die! He doth not waste on me one sigh. His plan with Steinfort he will hold. I know his nature, proud and bold, Decided once, his purpose stern, No human power can ever turn. Perchance, while idle here I stand,

He tears the will with reckless hand. I know not, faith, why I should rue, Had yesterday the news been true!"

Oh, where did Ulric's noble mind Such base, unwonted fancies find? His bosom heaved—his cheek grew hot: Faint reason called—he heeded not. On, on he trod with haughtier stride. Ambition, envy, hatred, pride, Inflame his veins—his bosom swell. Who deemed that there such monsters dwell? And in that hour, oh! who can tell, Before him spread what dangerous sight; And rose what visions, startling bright, Love, splendor, glory, power, delight. As once upon the mountain height!

Thus sunk in thought, by chance he raised His flashing eyes and upward gazed; And paused, rebuked, awe-struck, amazed, As glittering, vast and high,

Unutterable and sublime, Untouched by change—unworn by time, World beyond world in myriad bright, Evolving circles infinite, He saw the wondrous sky.

Thou, God!" he said, "dost walk that plain, And o'er those fields eternal reign, Each wheeling sphere control; Mark each far orb, each sparkling sun, His radiant race, each comet run, Each system round thee roll."

Far soaring thus his dazzled gaze, Through boundless heaven's eternal blaze, While revelations o'er his soul, Of holiest truth, like morning stole, A voice he heard, or seemed to hear, Beyond the farthest starry sphere, Beyond where fancy ever trod— Tremble thou earth—for I am God." He listened—all his sin he felt, And prayed that God to guard from guilt.

In Christ's name! my petition hear; From earth—from sin my conscience clear! Let not my steps from virtue stray! Hold up my goings in thy way! And where I tread be holy ground! And may thy angels hover round! My failing feet, if left alone, I know may dash against a stone; Guide me! and keep me for thy own! I bow my forehead in the dust, Save from hell's craft, and life's destroying lust!"

Did fancy dream? or did he hear, Upon the silent, starry air, A distant strain—and rushing wings— Sounds as of angel-wanderings! And, from aerial voices fell The words? or came from founts that dwell In his own breast? Oh who can tell?

Keep thy heart, Ulric, in the strife; From it the issues are of life.

Be strong! let never sin o'ertake thee I will not fail thee nor forsake thee."

Scarce ceased the words, when through the trees, Came mingling voices on the breeze, And close at hand surprised he sees His uncle and Count Steinfort ride; A single groom is at their side; From their long hunt but just returned, And yet his foe with vengeance burned. For Steinfort's scornful lips did say: Like a foul reptile, from thy way, Forth thrust him!" and the uncle cried;

To-night he's disinherited— No nephew more of mine! By this, the will must ready be. Come on and soon thyself shall see How gladly I will sign. Good Steinfort! o'er my silver brow, I've seen some sixty winters flow, And, by our Lady! yet,

Did never, in my whole life long, Insult—no matter what—or wrong, E'er pardon or forget."

He had not ceased when fiercely sprang Five lusty ruffians out with clang Of cursing voice and clashing blade That gleamed above each startled head, And glittered through the night. Your money or your life, my men" And every word a blow, and then All furious broke the fight. Crushed soon by odds might well astound, The groom lay bleeding on the ground, And the bloodthirsty miscreants drew In narrower circle round the two. 'Twas fearful odds—'twas deadly strife; 'Twas blow for blow, and life for life— When, for one moment petrified, As if by magic, at his side, To see such sudden vision rise, With devilish hopes to lure his eyes;

And, had he but one moment more Refrained—the will—the wealth were sure— Ulric, off! off! in horror, threw The thought, that back his falchion drew, The black, the execrable thought, By what infernal demon taught! Again—again—before him brought— Leaped forward, and with earnest blow, Cleft through the head his uncle's foe, And then laid bleeding Steinfort's low; Both, if abandoned to their fate, Had passed, that night, death's bloody gate. The three survivors, mad with rage, At once their single foe engage; But fought in vain, for met they here No feeble, white-haired cavalier, And shrunk before far other brand, Than waved in Steinfort's helpless hand. Like lightning struck, with fearful ire, And many a spark of heavy fire, Struck sharp and deadly, Ulric's blade; And many a ghastly gash it made,

As cool as if it idly played At fencing bout in noonday glade. Such hand must conquer, had been there Full twice as many as there were; And that they found full soon, for flight Sought never, in more desperate plight, The frightened deer, pursued by hounds, Their booty, only dripping wounds— While three upon the trampled field, With curses deep, their life-blood yield.

Canto V

Count Rosenberg that evening sat, With all a judge’s solemn state, In stern vindictive mood. A skilful leach the trifling wound, In Ulric’s bosom careful bound. The whispering servants crowded round;— With thoughtful eyes that sought the ground, Dark Steinfort silent stood, And ever pale that lofty brow, Its ashy hue was ghastlier now, And mute the lips, and close compressed And bent the arms upon the breast— And while, as a contagious pest, All shunned his guilty side. No lofty martyr in the land