RUDOLPH VON ERLACH.

IN his hall, the hero Rudolph

Sits in peace, his battles done : O'er him hangs Burgundia's banner In the fight of Laupen won.

All his vassals in the village Hold their revel loud and long : He will rest this eve untended, Who should do him scathe or wrong P Musing there, he sees before him Vanished days come back again ; All life's effort, failure, triumph, All the rapture, all the pain : Feels once more the joy of battle In his old veins surging free; Heads the charge, and grasps the standard,

Breaks Burgundia's chivalry.—

As at Berne before the Minster, Wrought in bronze, we see him stand, Stalwart knight and gallant war-horse, Bulwark of his Fatherland.— Gentler thoughts succeed,—of Bertha, Oh the bitter day she died!

And the fair-haired boy who perished . Hotly striking at his side.

Well he knows they wait to greet him When death's barrier has been crossed; This at least hath age, it brings us Nearer to the loved and lost. On him steals false-hearted Rudenz, Wedded to his daughter fair: " Dotard, all too long thou lingerest, Thus I seal myself thine heir."

Seizing then the sword that flail-like Rose and fell in Laupen's fight, With one felon-thrust he slays him, And leaps forth into the night.

" None to note the deed, or 'venge it ; Who will guess his kinsman's hand ? Mine at length is yon fair castle, Mine the gold, and mine the land."

But the blood-hounds mark the death-cry, Well that voice beloved they know, Drag their chains, and all unbidden On the murderer's traces go.

Rudenz hears, and, winged by terror, Doffs his mantle, breasts the hill, Turns to listen, and the clanking

Chains draw near and nearer still.—

As when hunted by the Furies, On Orestes' ear there fell, Clamour of their iron scourges,

Baying of the dogs of hell.—

Slow at morn returned the bloodhounds To their murdered master's door, Laid them down and slept contented, Fangs and muzzles red with gore.

None knew where the chase had ended, In what chasm Rudenz lay Torn and mangled, for the raven And the wolf a fitting prey : While for Rudolph rose the death-prayer : " Thou who didst our freedom win, Sage in council, brave in battle, Heaven assoil thee from all sin." H. T. R.