AN APOLOGY FOR TALES OF TERROR CONTINUED TO ITS CONCLUSION WILLIAM AND HELEN FROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose,[1] And ey’d the dawning red: “Alas, my love, thou tarriest long! O art thou false or dead?” With gallant Fred’rick’s princely power 5 He sought the bold crusade; But not a word from Judah’s wars Told Helen how he sped. With Paynim and with Saracen At length a truce was made, 10 And ev’ry knight return’d to dry The tears his love had shed. Our gallant host was homeward bound With many a song of joy; Green wav’d the laurel in each plume, 15 The badge of victory. And old and young, and sire and son, To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody, The debt of love to pay. 20 Full many a maid her true-love met, And sobb’d in his embrace, And flutt’ring joy in tears and smiles Array’d full many a face. Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad; 25 She sought the host in vain; For none could tell her Williams fate, If faithless, or if slain. The martial band is past and gone; She rends her raven hair, 30 And in distractions bitter mood She weeps with wild despair. “O! rise my child,” her mother said, “Nor sorrow thus in vain; A perjur’d lover’s fleeting heart 35 No tears recall again.” “O mother, what is gone, is gone, Whats lost, for ever lorn: Death, death alone can comfort me; O had I ne’er been born! 40 “O break, my heart, O break at once! Drink my life-blood despair! No joy remains on earth for me, For me in heaven no share.” “O enter not in judgment, Lord!” 45 The pious mother prays; “Impute not guilt to thy frail child! She knows not what she says. “O say thy pater noster child! O turn to God and grace! 50 His will that turn’d thy bliss to bale Can change thy bale to bliss.” “O mother, mother! What is bliss? O mother, what is bale? My William’s love was heaven on earth, 55 Without it earth is hell. “Why should I pray to ruthless heav’n Since my lov’d Williams slain? I only pray’d for Williams sake, And all my pray’rs were vain.” 60 “O take the sacrament, my child, And check these tears that flow; By resignation’s humble pray’r, O hallow’d be thy woe!” “No sacrament can quench this fire, 65 Or slake this scorching pain: No sacrament can bid the dead Arise and live again. “O break, my heart, O break at once! Be thou my god, Despair! 70 Heav’n’s heaviest blow has fall’n on me, An vain each fruitless pray’r.” “O enter not in judgment, Lord, With thy frail child of clay! She knows not what her tongue has spoke; 75 Impute it not, I pray! “Forbear, my child, this desp’rate woe, And turn to God and grace; Well can devotion’s heav’nly glow Convert thy bale to bliss.” 80 “O mother, mother, what is bliss? O mother, what is bale? Without my William, what were heav’n, Or with him, what were hell!” Wild she arraigns th’ eternal doom, 85 Upbraids each sacred pow’r, Till spent, she sought her silent room, All in the lonely tower. She beat her breast, she wrung her hands, Till sun and day were o’er, 90 And through the glimm’ring lattice shone The twinkling of the star. Then, crash! the heavy draw-bridge fell, That o’er the moat was hung; And clatter! clatter! on its boards 95 The hoof of courser rung. The clank of echoing steel was heard, As off the rider bounded; And slowly on the winding stair, A heavy footstep sounded. 100 And hark! and hark! a knock—Tap! tap! A rustling stifled noise; Door latch and tinkling staples ring— At length a whisp’ring voice. “Awake, awake, arise, my love! 105 How, Helen, dost thou fare? Wak’st thou, or sleep’st? laugh’st thou, or weep’st? Hast thought on me my fair?” “My love! my love!—so late by night!— I wak’d, I wept for thee: 110 Much have I borne since dawn of morn;— Where, William, could’st thou be?” “We saddled late—From Hungary I rode since darkness fell; And to its bourne we both return, 115 Before the matin bell.” “O rest this night within my arms, And warm thee in their fold! Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind;— My love is deadly cold.” 120 “Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush! This night we must away; The steed is wight, the spur is bright, I cannot stay till day. “Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount’st behind 125 Upon my black barb steed: O’er stock and stile, a hundred miles, We haste to bridal bed.” “To-night—to-night a hundred miles? O dearest William, stay! 130 The bell strikes twelve—dark, dismal hour! O wait, my love, till day!” “Look here, look here—the moon shines clear— Full fast I ween we ride; Mount and away! for ere the day, 135 We reach our bridal bed. “The black barb snorts, the bridle rings; Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee! The feast is made, the chamber spread, The bridal guests await thee.” 140 Strong love prevail’d: She busks, she bounes, She mounts the barb behind, And round her darling William’s waist Her lily arms she twin’d. And, hurry! hurry! off they rode, 145 As fast as fast might be; Spurn’d from the courser’s thundering heels The flashing pebbles flee. And on the right, and on the left, Ere they could snatch a view, 150 Fast, fast, each mountain, mead, and plain, And cot and castle flew. “Sit fast—dost fear?— The moon shines clear— Fleet rides my barb—keep hold! Fear’st thou?” “O no!” she faintly said; 155 “But why so stern and cold? “What yonder rings? what yonder sings? Why shrieks the owlet grey?” “’Tis death-bells clang, ’tis funeral song, The body to the clay. 160 “With song and clang, at morrow’s dawn, Ye may inter the dead: To-night I ride, with my young bride, To deck our bridal bed. “Come with thy choir, thou coffin’d guest, 165 To swell our nuptial song! Come priest, to bless our marriage feast! Come all, come all along!” Ceas’d clang and song; down sunk the bier; The shrouded corpse arose: 170 And hurry! hurry! all the train The thund’ring steed pursues. And, forward! forward! on they go; High snorts the straining steed; Thick pants the rider’s labouring breath, 175 As headlong on they speed. “O William, why this savage haste? And where thy bridal bed?” “’Tis distant far.” “Still short and stern?” “’Tis narrow, trustless maid.” 180 “No room for me?” “Enough for both;— Speed, speed, my barb, thy course.” O’er thund’ring bridge, through boiling surge He drove the furious horse. Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode; 185 Splash! splash! along the sea;[2] The steed is wight, the spur is bright, The flashing pebbles flee. Fled past on right and left how fast Each forest, grove and bower; 190 On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town and tower. “Dost fear? dost fear?—The moon shines clear; Dost fear to ride with me?— Hurrah! hurrah! The dead can ride!” 195 “O William let them be! “See there, see there! What yonder swings And creaks ’mid whistling rain?” “Gibbet and steel, th’ accursed wheel; A murd’rer in his chain. 200 “Hollo! thou felon, follow here: To bridal bed we ride; And thou shalt prance a fetter dance Before me and my bride.” And hurry, hurry! clash, clash, clash! 205 The wasted form descends; And fleet as wind through hazel bush The wild career attends. Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Splash! splash! along the sea; 210 The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee. How fled what moonshine faintly show’d! How fled what darkness hid! How fled the earth beneath their feet, 215 The heav’ns above their head! “Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear, And well the dead can ride! Does faithful Helen fear for them?” “O leave in peace the dead!” 220 “Barb! Barb! methinks I hear the cock: The sand will soon be run: Barb! Barb! I smell the morning air; The race is well nigh done.” Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, 225 Splash! splash! along the sea; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee. “Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead; The bride, the bride is come! 230 And soon we reach the bridal bed, For, Helen, here’s my home.” Reluctant on its rusty hinge Revolv’d an iron door, And by the pale moon’s setting beam 235 Were seen a church and tow’r. With many a shriek and cry whiz round The birds of midnight, scared; And rustling like autumnal leaves Unhallow’d ghosts were heard. 240 O’er many a tomb and tomb-stone pale He spurr’d the fiery horse, Till sudden at an open grave He check’d the wond’rous course. The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 245 Down drops the casque of steel, The cuirass[3] leaves his shrinking side, The spur his gory heel. The eyes desert the naked skull, The mould’ring flesh the bone, 250 Till Helen’s lily arms entwine A ghastly skeleton! The furious barb snorts fire and foam, And with a fearful bound, Dissolves at once in empty air, 255 And leaves her on the ground. Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, Pale spectres flit along; Wheel round the main in dismal dance, And howl the fun’ral song; 260 “E’en when the heart’s with anguish cleft, Revere the doom of Heav’n! Her soul is from her body reft; Her spirit be forgiv’n!” ________________________________________ 1. Scott tells the story of this poems composition in his “Essay.” First hearing about the commotion made by Anna Lætitia Barbauld’s reading of William Taylor’s translation of Bürger’s “Lenora” before an Edinburgh literary society, Scott went about obtaining a copy of the German original and other German ballads and began translating them. He first completed this translation of “Lenora,” then of Bürger’s “Der Wilde Jäger,” originally entitled “The Chase,” but later “The Wild Huntsman” (see Tales of Wonder #23). These two poems were printed in a “thin quarto” by Mundell and Son for Manners and Miller of Edinburgh, Scott’s first publication in 1796. Yet beside the enthusiastic reception by his growing circle of literary friends, the thin volume, Scott tells us, “sunk unnoticed” (41), in part, Scott believed, because of the number of competing Lenora-translations published that year, pre-eminently Taylor’s. Although for Tales of Wonder Lewis will prefer Taylor’s translation of Bürger’s “Lenore” to Scott’s, he offered an extensive criticism of its rhyme and diction—what Lewis called a “severe examination”—in a letter to Scott, which Scott includes as an appendix to his “Essay” (55-56). 2. These two lines come directly from Taylor’s “Lenore.” In his “Essay” Scott admits the plagiarism: “I retained in my translation the two lines which Mr. Taylor had rendered with equal boldness and felicity” (39), and later notes that he sought and received Taylor’s forgiveness for “the invasion of his rights” (41). 3. A piece of armor covering the body from neck to waist. ________________________________________ A WARRIOR so bold and a virgin so bright[1] Conversed, as they sat on the green; They gazed on each other with tender delight: Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight, The maid’s was the Fair Imogine. 5 “And, oh!” said the youth, “since to-morrow I go To fight in a far-distant land, Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow, Some other will court you, and you will bestow On a wealthier suitor your hand.” 10 “Oh! hush these suspicions,” Fair Imogine said, “Offensive to love and to me! For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead Shall husband of Imogine be. 15 “And if e’er for another my heart should decide, Forgetting Alonzo the Brave, [2] God grant, that, to punish my falsehood and pride, Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, 20 And bear me away to the grave!”[3] To Palestine hasten’d the hero so bold; His love, she lamented him sore: But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when behold, A Baron all cover’d with jewels and gold 25 Arrived at Fair Imogines door. His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain, Soon made her untrue to her vows: He dazzled her eyes; he bewilder’d her brain; He caught her affections so light and so vain, 30 And carried her home as his spouse. And now had the marriage been bless’d by the priest; The revelry now was begun: The tables they groan’d with the weight of the feast; Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, 35 When the bell of the castle told—“one!” [4] Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found That a stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific; he utter’d no sound; He spoke not, he moved not, he look’d not around, 40 But earnestly gazed on the bride. His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height; His armour was sable to view: All pleasure and laughter were hush’d at his sight; The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back in affright; 45 The lights in the chamber burnt blue! [5] His presence all bosoms appear’d to dismay; The guests sat in silence and fear: At length spoke the bride, while she trembled: “I pray, Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, 50 And deign to partake of our cheer.” The lady is silent: the stranger complies, His vizor he slowly unclosed: Oh! God! [6] what a sight met Fair Imogines eyes! What words can express her dismay and surprise, 55 When a skeletons head was exposed! [7] All present then utter’d a terrified shout; All turn’d with disgust from the scene. The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, And sported his eyes and his temples about, 60 While the spectre address’d Imogine. “Behold me, thou false one! behold me!” he cried; “Remember Alonzo the Brave! God grants, that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, 65 Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, And bear thee away to the grave!” Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, While loudly she shriek’d in dismay; Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground: 70 Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found, Or the spectre who bore her away. Not long lived the Baron: and none since that time To inhabit the castle presume; For chronicles tell, that, by order sublime, 75 There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime, And mourns her deplorable doom. At midnight four times in each year does her sprite, When mortals in slumber are bound, Array’d in her bridal apparel of white, 80 Appear in the hall with the skeleton-knight, And shriek as he whirls her around. While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, Dancing round them pale spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave 85 They howl: “To the health of Alonzo the Brave, And his consort the False Imogine!” ________________________________________ 1. In this line Lewis introduces, after an initial iamb, the pulsing anapestic rhythm that animates his ballad: x \ x x \ x x \ x x \ A Warrior so bold and a virgin so bright Several other late nineteenth-century ballad writers admired and imitated this novel meter (see Southey’s “Poor Mary, The Maid of the Inn”); Coleridge was less impressed, noting the “effect [was] not unlike that of galloping over a paved road in a German stage-waggon without springs” (Chapter 16 of Biographia Literaria 2. 33-34). The most famous of the nine poems in first edition of The Monk (1796), “Alonzo the Brave” furnishes the persecuted Antonia’s anxious night-time reading just before she falls into the clutches of the scheming Matilda and the lecherous Ambrosio (271-273). In the words of Parreaux, the ballad “took England by storm” (50), appearing no less than ten times before the end of 1797 in such periodicals as The Morning Chronicle, The Star, and The Gentleman’s Magazine. Further evidence of the ballad’s great popularity can be found in the “long and flourishing career” at Sadler’s Wells Theatre of an “Heroic Pantomime Ballet” entitled Alonzo and Imogen; or The Spectral Bride (Parreaux 63). 2. The fourth edition of The Monk reads “And if e’er for another my heart should decide, / Forgetting . . .” This and the other two variants (see notes #4 and #6) indicate that Scott and Ballantyne were working from a copy of the poem from one of the first three editions of the novel. 3. Note the simple but effective use of the two hyper-stanzas (16-21 and 62-67), which with their triple rhymes dramatically emphasize the dire consequences of the forsaken vow. 4. The fourth edition of The Monk reads “tolled.” 5. Dogs howling and blue flames are time-honored Gothic indicators of the preternatural. 6. The fourth edition of The Monk reads “then” instead of “God!” These are small matters, but note how in this revision and the one recorded in note #2 (wherein Lewis eliminates “lust” as a motive of Imogine’s betrayal) Lewis responds to the two most frequent charges leveled by critics at his novel: its indecency and blasphemy. 7. Many contemporary readers associated Lewis’s ballad with Gottfried August Bürger’s “Lenore,” mainly because both contain the unexpected nocturnal return of the erring heroine’s lover—now a spectral and terrifying presence. But it is uncertain that Lewis drew directly upon William Taylor’s famed translation of “Lenora” because it first appears in The Monthly Magazine of May 1796. ________________________________________ BRIGHT shone the stars, the moon was sunk,[1] And gently blew the breeze, As homeward bound the stately ship Rode o’er the Indian seas. High on the poop, in lonely watch, 5 Young Arthur pensive stood, And eyed the quiv’ring light of Heav’n Reflected in the flood. But many and many a league his thoughts O’er land and water roam; 10 They fly to Britain’s distant isle, To dear Matilda’s home. His busy fancy paints the Fair Array’d in all her charms; He tastes the kiss of sweet return, 15 And folds her in his arms. Till waken’d from his rapturous dream, He hears the flapping sails, And chides, with fond impatience stung, The tardy-winged gales. 20 “O waft me some kind pow’r,” he cried, “With speed to Britain’s shore; Placed by the side of her I love, I’d ask of Fate no more! “Blow, blow ye slumbering winds! ye sails, 25 Catch every fleeting breath; The stormy blast with danger swells, But this delay is death.” Then, as across the watery waste, He bent his cheerless eyes, 30 From out the gloom a whitening form, Dim-seen, appear’d to rise. Swift-gliding on the sight it grew; And now in prospect plain, A little Boat was seen to come 35 Self-mov’d athwart the main. And in the stern in glistering white, A maiden sat to guide; Right to the ship she steer’d her course, And soon was at the side. 40 Young Arthur, speechless with amaze, Beheld the wond’rous sight, And seem’d a well-known face to view, That shone with paly light. With beating heart and mind disturbed, 45 He gazed upon the maid, Who upward turn’d an eager look, And “ Know’st me not?” she said. “O’er ocean wide, thro’ dashing waves, Behold Matilda come, 50 To meet her Arthur on his way, And bear him to her home: “A home unblest, forlorn, and dark, Whilst thou art absent still; A narrow house, but yet a place 55 Is left for thee to fill. “Long, long enough, with bitter pangs, My faithful breast was torn; Long, long enough in sad despair, I only liv’d to mourn: 60 “But now ’tis o’er!—Again we meet, But not again to part: Come then, descend, embark with me, And trust thy pilot’s art. “Ere star-light yields to morning-dawn, 65 A thousand leagues we sail, I care not how the current runs, Or which way blows the gale.” “What may this mean!” With falt’ring voice, The trembling Arthur cried: 70 “But if Matilda calls! I come, Whatever may betide.” Then o’er the ship’s tall side he sprung, His promis’d bride to meet; She drew beneath her little boat, 75 To stay his tottering feet. “Now touch me not! but distant sit, And trim the boat with heed.” The youth obey’d; she turn’d the helm; The vessel flew with speed. 80 “How pale and wan thy face, my love! How sunk and dead thine eyes! And sure some corpse’s winding-sheet Thy cloak and hood supplies!” “My face may well be pale, my love! 85 The night is dank and cold; And closer than a winding sheet, What garment can enfold?” No more could Arthur speak; for fear And wonder froze his blood: 90 He wildly eyed Matilda now, And now the foaming flood. In awful silence, all the night, They bounded o’er the tide; The boat ran rippling thro’ the brine, 95 That foam’d on either side. At length the stars began to fade, Down in the western sky, When dim the land appear’d in view, With cliffs o’erhung on high. 100 Straight for the shore the pilot maid Steer’d on her venturous bark, Where rugged rocks, with hideous yawn, Disclos’d a cavern dark. They enter:—Arthur shook with dread, 105 And “Whither now?” he cried: “Peace! peace! Our voyage is near its end,” Her echoing voice replied. Within the bowels of the ground, They plung’d in blackest night; 110 Yet still Matilda’s ghastly form Was seen in blueish light. The boat now touch’d the further shore, When straight uprose the maid: “Now follow, youth! My home is nigh.” 115 The shuddering youth obey’d. A narrow winding path they take, Drops trickling over head: He sees her light before him glide, But cannot hear her tread. 120 At last, they come where mould’ring bones Lie strew’d in heaps around, And opening vaults on either side Gape in the hollow ground: And coffins, rang’d in sable rows, 125 By glimm’ring light appear; Matilda stopt, and wav’d her hand, And said, “MY HOME IS HERE.”[2] “If thou Matilda house wilt share, Behold the narrow space; 130 Then welcome youth! now truly mine, And take a bride’s embrace!” Young Arthur stretch’d his doubtful arms To meet the clasping maid; When lo! instead of fleshly shape, 135 He grasp’d an empty shade! The life-blood left his fluttering heart, Cold dews his face bespread, Convulsive struggles shook his frame— And all the vision fled! [3] 140 ________________________________________ 1. Scott took this ballad from John Aikin’s Poems (1791), 31-41. Brother to Anna Lætitia Barbauld, physician, Unitarian, writer, and political reformer, John Aikin (1747-1822) occupies a minor but interesting place in the first Gothic revival. In 1773 he wrote with his sister “On the Pleasure Derived from Objects of Terror; with Sir Bertrand, a Fragment,” an early attempt to distinguish and defend a high, literarily acceptable form of the literature of terror from its cruder presentations. Praising Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764) and establishing a line of literary terror from Classical writers down to Shakespeare, the Aikins argue that when “formed by a sublime and vigorous imagination,” works of terror “elevate the soul to its highest pitch” (13). As editor of Monthly Magazine from 1796 to 1807, Aikin oversaw the publication of the poem that would prove foundational for the German ballad revival, Gottfried August Bürger’s “Lenore,” although, as his note to “Arthur and Matilda” attests, he knew of Taylor’s translation years before then. Taylor was a student of Barbauld at her Palgrave, Suffolk boarding school, and her reading of his “Lenora” for an Edinburgh literary society in 1793 first sparked Scott’s interest in German ballads. In his Historic Survey of German Poetry (1830), Taylor refers to Aikin’s note as proof that his “Lenora” antedates the other versions of the poem published during the 1790’s (2. 51). 2. In the version found in Aikin’s Poems, there are no closing quotation marks after Matilda’s dramatic announcement. 3. In a note from his Poems (1791) Aikin supplies the following information: “The idea of this piece was taken from a ballad translated by an ingenious friend from the German of Buirgher [sic]. The story and scenery are however totally different, and the resemblance only consists in a visionary journey.” “Arthur and Matilda” is noteworthy in that it evokes Bürger’s poetics of terror only to assign its presentation of otherworldly effects to a “visionary” or psychological cause. This use of the so-called “explained supernatural” became the favorite procedure of Ann Radcliffe, whose first novel to employ the technique, The Romance of the Forest, also appears in 1791. In his Letters from a Father to a Son(1793), Aikin reveals his interest in disordered psychological states in a passage that could well serve as a gloss on “Arthur and Matilda”: “The mind strongly impressed with an image which has been haunting it during sleep, is scarcely able to dispel the phantom, whilst the violent emotion which rouses from sleep, still, in the midst of darkness and solitude, keeps possession of the feelings” (283). Aikin’s poem is a minor literary work with little discernible influence, as most imitators of the “ancient ballad” will prefer supernatural presentations of terror as more in keeping with their Germanic and folk inspirations. His use of the “explained supernatural” nevertheless anticipates a rich vein of psychological literary terror that will characterize later Gothic fiction. ________________________________________ O’ER mountains, through vallies, Sir Oluf he wends [1] To bid to his wedding relations and friends; ’Tis night, and arriving where sports the elf band, The Erl-King’s proud daughter presents him her hand. “Now welcome, Sir Oluf! oh! welcome to me! 5 Come, enter our circle my partner to be.” “Fair lady, nor can I dance with you, nor may; To-morrow I marry, to-night must away.” “ Now listen, Sir Oluf! oh! listen to me! Two spurs of fine silver thy guerdon[2] shall be; 10 A shirt too of silk will I give as a boon, Which my queen-mother bleach’d in the beams of the moon. “Then yield thee, Sir Oluf! oh! yield thee to me! And enter our circle my partner to be!” “Fair lady, nor can I dance with you, nor may; 15 To-morrow I marry, to-night must away.” “Now listen, Sir Oluf; oh! listen to me! An helmet of gold will I give unto thee!” “ An helmet of gold would I willingly take, “ But I will not dance with you, for Urgela’s sake.” 20 “And deigns not Sir Oluf my partner to be? Then curses and sickness I give unto thee; Then curses and sickness thy steps shall pursue: Now ride to thy lady, thou lover so true.” Thus said she, and laid her charm’d hand on his heart; 25 Sir Oluf, he never had felt such a smart; Swift spurr’d he his steed till he reach’d his own door, And there stood his mother his castle before. “Now riddle me, Oluf, and riddle me right: Why look’st thou, my dearest, so wan and so white?” 30 “How should I not, mother, look wan and look white? I have seen the Erl-King’s cruel daughter to-night. “She cursed me! her hand to my bosom she press’d; Death follow’d the touch, and now freezes my breast! She cursed me, and said, ‘To your lady now ride;’ 35 Oh! ne’er shall my lips press the lips of my bride.” “Now riddle me, Oluf, and what shall I say, When here comes the lady, so fair and so gay?” “Oh! say, I am gone for awhile in to the wood, To prove if my hounds and my coursers are good.” 40 Scarce dead was Sir Oluf, and scarce shone the day, When in came the lady, so fair and so gay; And in came her father, and in came each guest, Whom the hapless Sir Oluf had bade to the feast. They drank the red wine, and they ate the good cheer; 45 “Oh! where is Sir Oluf! oh, where is my dear?” “ Sir Oluf is gone for awhile to the wood, To prove if his hounds and his coursers are good.” Sore trembled the lady, so fair and so gay; She eyed the red curtain; she drew it away; 50 But soon from her bosom for ever life fled, For there lay Sir Oluf, cold, breathless, and dead. ________________________________________ 1. This Danish ballad first appeared in the Monthly Mirror 2 (October 1796): 371-373. In the copy from Tales of Wonder (1801), Lewis includes this headnote: “The original is to be found in the Kiampe-Viiser, Copenhagen, 1739. My version of this Ballad (as also of most of the Danish Ballads in this collection) was made from a German translation to be found in Herder’s Volkslieder.” Kiampe-viise (or kæmpevise) is a generic Danish term for the medieval folk ballad, and as there were innumerable collections of these in the eighteenth-century, it is hard to know the specific reference. The closest one may be the anonymous Tvende lystige nye Kiempe-viiser [Two humorous new folk ballads] (Copenhagen, no date). This volume contains a version of the traditional ballad of “Elver-høy” along with a Norwegian ballad, “Om 12 Kiemper paa Dovre-field.” [I am indebted to Peter Mortensen for this information.] Herder’s title in the Volkslieder (1778) is “Herr Oluf reitet spät und weit” [Erlkönigs Tochter]. This ballad provided the inspiration for Goethe’s “Erlkönig.” 2. “reward”
Posted on: Sat, 30 Nov 2013 19:07:29 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015