(FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.)
BY MRS. E.F. ELLET.
By night through the forest who rideth so fast,
While the chill sleet is driving, and fierce roars the blast?
'Tis the father, who beareth his child through the storm,
And safe in his mantle has wrapped him from harm.
"My son, why hid'st thy face, as in fear?"
"Oh, father! see, father! the Erl-king is near!
The Erl-king it is, with his crown and his shroud!"
"My boy! it is naught but a wreath of the cloud."
"Oh, pretty child! come—wilt thou go with me!
With many gay sports will I gambol with thee;
There are flowers of all hues on our fairy strand—
My mother shall weave thee robes golden and grand."
"Oh, father! my father! and dost thou not hear
What the Erl-king is whispering low in mine ear?"
"Be quiet, my darling! thy hearing deceives;
'Tis but the wind whistling among the crisp leaves."
"Oh, beautiful boy! wilt thou come with me!—say!
My daughters are waiting to join thee at play!
In their arms they shall bear thee through all the dark night—
They shall dance, they shall sing thee to slumber so light?"
"My father! oh, father! and dost thou not see
Where the Erl-king's daughters are waiting for me?"
"My child! 'tis no phantom! I see it now plain;
'Tis but the grey willow that waves in the rain."
"Thy sweet face hath charmed me! I love thee, my joy!
And com'st thou not willing, I'll seize thee, fair boy!"
"Oh, father! dear father! his touch is so cold!
He grasps me! I cannot escape from his hold!"
Sore trembled the father, he spurs through the wild,
And folds yet more closely his terrified child;
He reaches his own gate in darkness and dread—
Alas! in his arms lay the fair child—dead!