University of Virginia Library


177

“It is said that the evil spirytes that ben in the regyon, doubte moche when they here the Bells rongen: and this is the cause why the Bells ben rongen, when greet tempeste and outrages of wether happen, to the end that the fiends and wycked spirytes should be abashed and flee.—

The Golden Legend, by Wynkyn de Words.


179

Elisabeth of the Wartburg.

[_]

The tomb of this distinguished princess is still shown. She was the daughter of the King of Hungary, and wife of Louis of Thuringia. From her childhood she developed an unworldly purity of character and spent all her energies in works of benevolence. Many legends are related of her charities, on one of which the following ballad is founded.

Down from the lordly Wartburg
Came Elisabeth the fair,
All girt with lords and ladies
In silk and jewels rare.
All girt with lords and ladies
In pomp of courtly glee,
And 'mid them all was none so plain,
Yet none so fair as she.

180

With twinkling gems and braided hair
With plumage waving gay,
With broidered vest and tasseled robe,
Were all her court array.
With simple robe of long dark fold,
With simply parted hair,
One moon-lit pearl upon her brow,
Came she, their lady fair.
Oh not of earth the beauty
That lay upon her face;
A twilight sweetness, like the brow
Of Mary, full of grace.
For she, though wedded to a prince,
And daughter of a king,
Was called of Heaven, and wore unseen
Its mystic marriage ring.

181

And 'mid the follies and the noise
Of that vain court so gay,
Her heart was quiet as a shrine,
Whence prayer ascends alway.
Now in the path, as on they come,
A Jewish infant lies
Outcast and foul with leprous stain
It moans with piteous cries.
“Out and alack! what Jewish hound
Hath dared pollute the road?
Where Wartburg's princess sets her foot,
Where kings so oft have trod!”
So spake the angry seneschal,
The courtly minions stare;
“A Jewish leper! Mary save!
Satan hath placed it there.

182

“Who dares pollute a Christian hand
To touch the cursed thing,
Set the hounds on it—else its touch
A deadly curse may bring!”
As the moon walks through stormy clouds,
That royal lady, mild
Walked through the angry band, and raised
In her own arms, the child.
Her dark eye flashed, her bosom heaved,
She spoke with noble scorn,
“Christians, are ye? and dare profane
The form your lord hath worn?
“Was Jesus not a Jewish babe,
Outcast—of man reviled?
Jesus! thy image I revere
In this forsaken child!”

183

The queen has trod her lordly halls
With firm, unshrinking tread,
And bore the babe unto her bower,
And laid it on her bed.
The prince came in from hunting,
And the busy courtiers said,
“Go up! go up, thou prince, and see
What thy wife hath in her bed.
“A lothly, leprous, Jewish child,
Accursed by church and king,
She to thy royal castle bears,
And to her bed doth bring!”
The Langrave's brow grew hot with shame,
And not a word spake he,
But up the sculptured stair he trode
The mystery to see.

184

He strode along the corridor,
He reached his lady's bower;
Sweet Mary's grace! how strange a sight
Befel him in that hour!
With hands and eyes to heaven upraised,
As in a trance she stood;
And glory from the opening skies
Streamed round her like a flood.
The bed was whiter than the light,
And gemmed with lilies fair,
And fairer, purer, 'mid them all,
A wondrous child was there!
Around his brow a starry crown,
And in his deep soft eyes
There beamed the loveliness of God,
The peace of Paradise.

185

And from above in sounds as sweet
As dying saint ere heard,
Came down the echo of that chant,
Ere while in Bethlehem poured.
All blinded, dazzled, and amazed,
The prince and court kneeled down,
And did obeisance to the babe
That were the heavenly crown.
They raised their heads and all was gone,
The light, the flowers, the child,
Alone she stood, with hands upraised,
That saintly woman mild.
But floating downward from the skies
An echo seemed to be,
“Who scorns the outcast and the poor,
He is ashamed of Me.”
Andover, Mass., 1855.