THE WILD HUNSTMAN by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

THY rest was deep at the slumberer's hour,
If thou didst not hear the blast
Of the savage horn from the mountain-tower,
As the Wild Night-Huntsman passed,
And the roar of the stormy chase went by
Through the dark unquiet sky!

The stag sprung up from his mossy bed
When he caught the piercing sounds,
And the oak-boughs crashed to his antlered head,
As he flew from the viewless hounds;
And the falcon soared from her craggy height,
Away through the rushing night!

The banner shook on its ancient hold!
And the pine in its desert place,
As the cloud and tempest onward rolled
With the din of the trampling race;
And the glens were filled with the laugh and shout,
And the bugle, ringing out!

From the chieftain's hand the wine-cup fell,
At the castle's festive board,
And a sudden pause came o'er the swell
Of the harp's triumphant chord;
And the Minnesinger's thrilling lay
In the hall died fast away.

The convent's chanted rite was stayed,
And the hermit dropped his beads,
And a trembling ran through the forest-shade,
At the neigh of the phantom steeds,
And the church-bells pealed to the rocking blast
As the Wild Night-Huntsman passed.

The storm hath swept with the chase away,
There is stillness in the sky;
But the mother looks on her son today
With a troubled heart and eye,
And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care
Midst the gleam of her golden hair!

The Rhine flows bright; but its waves ere long
Must hear a voice of war,
And the clash of spears our hills among,
And a trumpet from afar;
And the brave on a bloody turf must lie --
For the Huntsman hath gone by!

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