Miscellaneous Ballads

The Student of Jena.

Once--'twas when I lived at Jena-- At a Wirthshaus' door I sat; And in pensive contemplation Ate the sausage thick and fat; Ate the kraut that never sourer Tasted to my lips than here; Smoked my pipe of strong canaster, Sipped my fifteenth jug of beer; Gazed upon the glancing river, Gazed upon the tranquil pool, Whence the silver-voiced Undine, When the nights were calm and cool, As the Baron Fouque tells us, Rose from out her shelly grot, Casting glamour o'er the waters, Witching that enchanted spot. From the shadow which the coppice Flings across the rippling stream, Did I hear a sound of music-- Was it thought or was it dream? There, beside a pile of linen, Stretched along the daisied sward, Stood a young and blooming maiden-- 'Twas her thrush-like song I heard. Evermore within the eddy Did she plunge the white chemise; And her robes were loosely gathered Rather far above her knees; Then my breath at once forsook me, For too surely did I deem That I saw the fair Undine Standing in the glancing stream-- And I felt the charm of knighthood; And from that remembered day, Every evening to the Wirthshaus Took I my enchanted way.

Shortly to relate my story, Many a week of summer long Came I there, when beer-o'ertaken, With my lute and with my song; Sang in mellow-toned soprano All my love and all my woe, Till the river-maiden answered, Lilting in the stream below:-- "Fair Undine! sweet Undine! Dost thou love as I love thee?" "Love is free as running water," Was the answer made to me.

Thus, in interchange seraphic, Did I woo my phantom fay, Till the nights grew long and chilly, Short and shorter grew the day; Till at last--'twas dark and gloomy, Dull and starless was the sky, And my steps were all unsteady For a little flushed was I,-- To the well-accustomed signal No response the maiden gave; But I heard the waters washing And the moaning of the wave. Vanished was my own Undine, All her linen, too, was gone; And I walked about lamenting On the river bank alone. Idiot that I was, for never Had I asked the maiden's name. Was it Lieschen--was it Gretchen? Had she tin, or whence she came? So I took my trusty meerschaum, And I took my lute likewise; Wandered forth in minstrel fashion, Underneath the louring skies: Sang before each comely Wirthshaus, Sang beside each purling stream, That same ditty which I chanted When Undine was my theme, Singing, as I sang at Jena, When the shifts were hung to dry, "Fair Undine! young Undine! Dost thou love as well as I?"

But, alas! in field or village, Or beside the pebbly shore, Did I see those glancing ankles, And the white robe never more; And no answer came to greet me, No sweet voice to mine replied; But I heard the waters rippling, And the moaning of the tide.

The Lay of the Levite.

There is a sound that's dear to me, It haunts me in my sleep; I wake, and, if I hear it not, I cannot choose but weep. Above the roaring of the wind, Above the river's flow, Methinks I hear the mystic cry Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

The exile's song, it thrills among The dwellings of the free, Its sound is strange to English ears, But 'tis not strange to me; For it hath shook the tented field In ages long ago, And hosts have quailed before the cry Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

Oh, lose it not! forsake it not! And let no time efface The memory of that solemn sound, The watchword of our race; For not by dark and eagle eye The Hebrew shall you know, So well as by the plaintive cry Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks, Or Sidon's sunny walls, Where, dial-like, to portion time, The palm-tree's shadow falls, The pilgrims, wending on their way, Will linger as they go, And listen to the distant cry Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

Bursch Groggenburg.