🧚 Legends and Tales., part 15 · page 2

From the high fortress the robber-band of knights rode down the mountain, for they perceived the long-desired prey in the distance.48

Beneath, by the quiet hermitage, appeared the pious old hermit, looked reprovingly upon them, and shook his silver-white locks.49

"Ye wild knights!" he cried, "ye shall no longer bring disgrace and shame upon the honour of knighthood.50 No longer shall ye march forth to rob and plunder.51 Know, thou leader of thy robber-troop, thy time is expired.52 Enter my hermitage, confess, and take the communion, for thou shalt never again ride living into the valley."53

But the proud knight fell in a rage at the solemn admonition. "54 Punish the old bird of ill omen!" he cried in a fury, and rode away.55

Now the hermitage chapel is wrapped in flames, and the aged hermit sinks to the ground from many wounds.56

Dying, he stretches forth his hands in pain, and cries after the retreating knight, "Ride on, ride till the judgment day; ride every night through the forests, till thy horse sinks exhausted under thee, and may no pious one meet thee, but only the foul fiend of perdition!"57

Mourning, the robber-band rode back to the high castle, for their leader had fallen with his horse and broken his neck.58

They laid him in the still vault, but he cannot enjoy the peace of the grave.59 When the moonbeams fall soft and pale on castle and rocks, he tears in a wild gallop on his black horse below into the quiet valley.60

To the grave of the hermit is the ghostly ride, and there, a grey, bleeding shadow, stands the murdered old man.61

And a ghostly voice whispers, "Ride on, wicked knight, till the day of eternal retribution; but do not terrify the good, only the wicked.62 And where the stumbling of thy horse once brought thee death, there shall thy ride end, there shalt thou stumble every night."63

Already long the castle has laid in ruins; but the knight rides ever, without rest, on a wild black steed from its lonely tower to the hermit's weeping-willow-shaded grave; and the enchantment can only be broken when the robber-knight, on his night ride, meets one more wicked than himself.64

Legend of Silberhohl.65

In the neighbourhood of Leesen lies a spot called Silberhohl.66 It is almost round, and several feet deeper than the ground around it, and quite overgrown with swamp-moss.67 People go by with a shudder, for there is something the matter with the place.68

Centuries ago a stately castle stood on the spot, in which there was always much drinking, gambling and wild merriment.69

The nobles of the castle acted as if they owned the whole world; and everything did belong to them that they could take by force, for they lived by robbing, and were guilty of much violence and cruelty.70

One could say with truth, there was not a single good heart in the Burg except the young girl Jutta.71 Everybody loved her, and often, when the robbers had marched out to plunder, she would visit the poor and the sick, and even the robbed, giving them food and the money she had saved.72 The suffering and poor called her Saint Jutta.73

Once the robbers had committed a monster crime.74 Covered with the blood of those they had robbed, they returned laden with booty to the castle.75

Soon the goblets stood on the oaken tables, and the unholy, lawless revel began.76

Suddenly the most terrible thunder rolled, a mighty flash of lightning swept the hall, the earth quaked and opened, the walls trembled, the tower shook and fell with an awful noise that was heard miles away.77 All sank in the gulf, which closed again, and nothing was left of the castle but a deep round spot where it had stood.78

Many came to see the place so marked by a Divine vengeance, and every one said, "Poor Jutta!"79

Not long after the destruction of the Burg, a poor woman in a neighbouring village fell ill.80 She wept sore, for her three little children cried for bread, and she could work no longer.81

The mother folded her hands and prayed.82 Then she said to herself, "Oh! if the dear Jutta were only alive!"83

Then the door was opened softly; a light form wrapped in a white veil, with a gleaming diadem in her hair, came forward to the bed.84

"Jutta!" cried the poor mother.85

The figure waved the hand, glanced kindly at the sleeping children, set down a peculiar shaped basket on a table, drew a cross over the mother, and vanished.86

A deep sleep fell on the poor woman, and when she awoke the next morning she found the basket full of gold pieces.87

Lautenthal.88 [1]89

"_Harmonieen hör' ich klingen, Töne süsser Himmelsrüh.90

"Harmonies I hear resounding, Tones of sweet, heavenly music."91

[1] The valley of the lute.92

Why dost thou sit so lonely on the declivity of the mountain, innocent daughter of the Felsenburg?93 Why does the cloud of care rest on thy countenance?94 Why dost thou gaze with such sad longing into the vale below?95

The light of thy eyes is dimmed by a tear; heavy and anxious rests thy curly head on thy snowy arm; as the heavenly glory crowns the head of a martyred saint, so the splendour of sunset bathes thy form.96 Deep and great must be the anguish that fills thy breast, and yet thou dost endure speechless and silent.97 Not a sigh breaks from thy swelling heart, not a lament from thy lips, not a sad note from the strings of the lute that lies hushed before thee.98

Weep no longer, child of grief; brighten thy saddened countenance.99 He for whom thou art waiting, the beloved of thy soul, will come; he will come with the quick step of love, and his glance will chase away grief and care from thy soul.100

Hark!101 Already it rustles in the wood, already his tread resounds on the rocks; he climbs the mountain.102

With the bliss of the purest love he clasps the sorrowing maiden in his strong arms--and yet thou remainest in mourning and tears?103

Fairest of the blue-eyed daughters of the Harz, is thy heart cold in presence of the flame of love, as the ice of the Brocken is proof against the sun of the spring-time?104

Ah! not cold and hard was her heart; pure and tender, as the dewdrops in the lily, it lay in her innocent breast, and adorned the morning of her life, till the sunny fire of love smiled down upon her.105 Then a never-before-imagined bliss trembled through the pure flower, her heart was filled with joy, the clear dewdrop dissolved in love.106 The dewdrop belongs to the sunbeams, and the heart of the maiden to the youth she loves.107

But fate was not favourable to the lovers--fate, the destroyer of so many blissful bonds.108

Jutta was the daughter of a noble whose Schloss lay near Leesen, and Ernst the son of an old warrior, who, after having fought many a battle in his youth and won many honours, now poor, weak from wounds, and forgotten by the world, had retired into solitude, to spend the remainder of his days in memories of his active life, and in the education of his only son.109 Under his guidance Ernst grew up strong and free, a true son of the Harz, lofty of stature and of an exalted mind, with a noble heart and countenance, with a fearless glance and bold design.110