Foredoomed by God-by man accurst,
And that last act, though not thy worst,
The very Fiend's arch mock;
He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!

THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.

BY LUDWIG UHLAND.

(Translated by Elizabeth Craigmyle.)

[JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND Occupies a foremost place among the great lyric poets of Germany in the nineteenth century. Born at Tübingen, April 26, 1787, he studied law at the university there, and practiced as an advocate at Stuttgart, but subsequently devoted himself to linguistic studies and literary work. For several years he published ballads and other lyrics in various periodicals, the first collection of which, under the title of " Gedichte," appeared in 1815. To this he kept adding during his lifetime, and it is on these "Gedichte" that his fame rests. He is the acknowledged head of the so-called Swabian school of German poets. He died at Tübingen, November 13, 1862.]

THERE stood in times of story a castle proud and high,
The sailors saw afar off its turrets pierce the sky,
Around were perfumed gardens, a garland rich and fair,
Within them rainbow fountains sprang sparkling high in air.

The king that ruled within it was great in power and might,
His brows were dark and lowering, his lips with wrath were white;
His very thoughts are murder, his glance devouring flame,
His words they fall like scourges, in blood he writes his name.

And to the evil castle came once a minstrel pair,

The younger's locks were golden, gray was the other's hair;
Upon a noble charger the aged singer rode,

With untired step beside him his young companion strode.

Then spake the gray-haired minstrel, "Be ready now, my son,
Hard is the task that waits us; sing as thou ne'er hast done.
Sing of all pain and pleasure, and strain thine utmost art,
To-day we strive to soften the brute king's stony heart."

Soon stand both daring singers within the palace hall,
The throned king is listening, the queen and nobles all:

The king in fearful splendor, like the Northern Lights' red glare,
The queen so soft and gentle, like a moonbeam white and fair.

And, hark, upon the harp-chords his hand the harper flings;
What wondrous music shivers from out the stricken strings!
Then like a stream came welling the youth's voice heavenly clear,
It cadenced with the old man's, like an angel's to the ear.

They sing of love and springtime, of joy and faithfulness,
Of freedom and of manhood, of faith and holiness;
They sing all unknown sweetness that comes and passes by,
They sing of all things lofty, that make the heart beat high.

The courtiers throng around them, they are not jesting now!
The haughty plumes are bending, to God the helmed heads bow;
The queen's eyes melt and soften, What are both throne and crown?
The rose from out her bosom to the minstrel she throws down!

"Ye have seduced my people, seduce ye now my queen?"
The king he shrieks in frenzy, trembling in wrathful teen.
And at the stripling straightway his battle blade he flings,
Instead of quivering music, the heart blood quivering springs.

The crowd of listeners scattered like dust before the storm.
Upon the old man's bosom there lies a lifeless form,
He wraps his mantle round it, he sets it on his horse,
And upright in the saddle he binds the mangled corse.

Before the castle portal the ancient singer stood,

He took his harp so wondrous of gold and precious wood,
Against a marble pillar he shivered it in twain;

Then shrieked this imprecation till the castle rang amain:

"Woe, woe, ye palace chambers! Woe, woe, ye halls so proud!
No more shall song or harpings within you sound aloud,
But groans and dreary sobbings and stealthy step of slaves,
Till Vengeance stamps your turrets a-level with men's graves!

"Woe, woe, ye perfumed gardens, in all your fair May light!
Look on this ghastly, soulless clod, and wither at the sight!
On every spring and fountain shall this sight a seal be placed,
So ye shall lie in future days a desert, stony waste.

"Woe to thee, murderer! Thine hand hath crushed the singer's crown;

Fruitless shall be thy striving for the garland of renown,-
Thy very name shall perish, despite thy craft and care,

Even as a last death rattle dies out in empty air!"

So hath the old man cursed him — and God in heaven hath heard;
The halls and ramparts crumble at the minstrel's magic word;
One pillar only standeth of the ruined spendors all,
And that, already cloven, is nodding to its fall.

Around, instead of gardens, is a desert heathen land;

No tree gives cooling shadow, no fount breaks through the sand;
The king has been forgotten, no bards his deeds rehearse,
His very name is vanished! Such is the Minstrel's Curse!

GAMBLER'S LUCK.

BY E. T. W. HOFFMANN.

[ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN, German novelist, composer, and miscellaneous writer, was a native of Königsberg, Prussia, being born January 24, 1776. He held several judicial appointments in Posen and Warsaw until the French invasion, when he was deprived of office. Thrown upon his own resources, he led a precarious existence as composer, author, and musical director at Bamberg and other places. In 1815 he resumed his career in the Prussian service, and held the post of councilor of the supreme court in Berlin until his death, June 25, 1822. His works include: "Phantasy Pieces," "The Elixir of the Devil," 79 66 Night Pieces," "Kater Murr," etc. The opera "Undine " is the best of his musical works.]

PYRMONT had a larger concourse of visitors than ever in the summer of 18—. The number of rich and illustrious strangers increased from day to day, greatly exciting the zeal of speculators of all kinds. Hence it was also that the owners of the faro bank took care to pile up their glittering gold in bigger heaps, in order that this, the bait of the noblest game, which they, like good skilled hunters, knew how to decoy, might preserve its efficacy.

Who does not know how fascinating an excitement gambling is, particularly at watering places, during the season, where every visitor, having laid aside his ordinary habits and course of life, deliberately gives himself up to leisure and ease and exhilarating enjoyment? Then gambling becomes an irresistible attraction. People who at other times never touch a card are to be seen amongst the most eager players; and besides, it is the fashion, especially in higher circles, for every one to visit the bank in the evening and lose a little money at play.

The only person who appeared not to heed this irresistible attraction, and this injunction of fashion, was a young German Baron, whom we will call Siegfried. When everybody else hurried off to the playhouse, and he was deprived of all means and all prospect of the intellectual conversation he loved, he preferred either to give reins to the flights of his fancy in solitary walks or to stay in his own room and take up a book, or even indulge in poetic attempts, in writing, himself.

As Siegfried was young, independent, rich, of noble appearance and pleasing disposition, it could not fail but that he was highly esteemed and loved, and that he had the most decisive good fortune with the fair sex. And in everything that he took up or turned his attention to, there seemed to be a singularly lucky star presiding over his actions. Rumor spoke of many extraordinary love intrigues which had been forced upon him, and out of which, however ruinous they would in all likelihood have been for many other young men, he escaped with incredible ease and success. But whenever the conversation turned upon him and his good fortune, the old gentlemen of his acquaintance were especially fond of relating a story about a watch which had happened in the days of his early youth. For it chanced once that Siegfried, while still under his guardian's care, had quite unexpectedly found himself so straitened for money on a journey that he was absolutely obliged to sell his gold watch, which was set with brilliants, merely in order to get on his way. He had made up his mind that he would have to throw away his valuable watch for an old song; but as there happened to be in the hotel where he had put up a young prince who was just in want of such an ornament, the Baron actually received for it more than it was really worth. More than a year passed and Siegfried had become his own master, when he read in the newspapers in another place that a watch was to be made the subject of a lottery. He took a ticket which cost a mere trifle, and won-the same gold watch set with brilliants which he had sold. Not long afterwards he exchanged this watch for a valuable ring. He held office for a short time under the Prince of G―, and when he retired from his post the Prince presented to him as a mark of his good will the very identical gold watch set with brilliants as before, together with a costly chain.

From this story they passed to Siegfried's obstinacy in never on any account touching a card; why, with his strongly

pronounced good luck he had all the more inducement to play; and they were unanimous in coming to the conclusion that the Baron, notwithstanding all his other conspicuous good qualities, was a miserly fellow, far too careful and far too stingy to expose himself to the smallest possible loss. That the Baron's conduct was in every particular the direct contrary of that of an avaricious man had no weight with them; and as is so often the case, when the majority have set their hearts upon tagging a questioning "but" on to the good name of a talented man, and are determined to find this "but " at any cost, even though it should be in their own imagination, so in the present case the sneering allusion to Siegfried's aversion to play afforded them infinite satisfaction.

Siegfried was not long in learning what was being said about him; and since, generous and liberal as he was, there was nothing he hated and detested more than miserliness, he made up his mind to put his traducers to shame by ransoming himself from this foul aspersion at the cost of a couple of hundred louis d'or, or even more if need be, however much disgusted he might feel at gambling. He presented himself at the faro bank with the deliberate intention of losing the large sum which he had put in his pocket; but in play also the good luck which stood by him in everything he undertook did not prove unfaithful. Every card he chose won. The cabalistic calculations of seasoned old players were shivered to atoms against the Baron's play. No matter whether he changed his cards or continued to stake on the same one, it was all the same he was always a winner. In the Baron they had the singular spectacle of a punter at variance with himself because the cards fell favorable for him; and notwithstanding that the explanation of his behavior was pretty patent, yet people looked at each other significantly and gave utterance in no ambiguous terms to the opinion that the Baron, carried along by his penchant for the marvelous, might eventually become insane, for any player who could be dismayed at his run of luck must surely be insane.

The very fact of having won a considerable sum of money made it obligatory upon the Baron to go on playing until he should have carried out his original purpose; for in all probability his large win would be followed by a still larger loss. But people's expectations were not in the remotest degree realized, for the Baron's striking good luck continued to attend him.