The Demon-Yager

UP rose the sun: the church-dome shone
And burned aloft like burnished gold,
And deep and far, with swelling tone,
The Sabbath-bell for matins tolled.
Those holy peals from tower and steeple
Awoke to prayer the Christian people.

His horn the Wild-and-Rhinegrave sounded —
"What ho! To horse! to horse away!"—
His fiery steed beneath him bounded;
Forth sprang the hounds with yell and bay,
And, loosed from leash, they dashed pell-mell
Through corn and thorn, down dell and fell.

In curve and zig-zag sped their flight,
And "Ho! Halloo!" how rang the air!
When, towards the Knight came left and right
A horseman here, a horseman there!
A snow-white steed the one bestrode:
Like lurid fire the other's glowed.

Who were the yagers left and right?
I darkly guess, but fear to say.
The countenance of one was bright
And lovely as a Summer's day;
The other's eye-balls, fierce and proud,
Shot lightning, like a thunder-cloud.

"All hail, Sir Count! We come in time
To chase the stag with horse and hound:
Can lordlier sport or more sublime
Than this on Earth, in Heaven be found!"
So spake the left-hand stranger there,
And tossed his bonnet high in air.

"ill sounds to-day thy boisterous horn,"
Thus did the other mildly say:
"Turn round to church this hallowed morn,
Mayest else hunt down a rueful prey!
Thy better angel is thy waruer,
And bids thee flee the unholy scorner."

"Spur on, spur on, Sir Count, with me!"
Exclaimed the left-hand cavalier:
"What's droning chant or chime to thee?
Hast got far nobler pastime here.
Come! learn in iny distinguished school,
And laugh to scorn yon pious fool!"

"Ha! ha! Well said, my left-hand feere!
We tally bravely, I and thou:
Who shuns this day to drive the deer
Should count his beads in church, I trow.
Mayest go, priest-ridden oaf, and pray;
For me, I'll hunt the livelong day."

And, helter-skelter, forward flew
That headlong train o'er plain and height:
And still the yagers one and two
Preserved their places left and right;
And soon a milk-white stag they spied,
With mighty antlers branching wide.

Afresh the Wildgrave winds his horn,
And horse and hound sweep on amain;
When, hurled to earth, all gashed and torn,
A man lies trampled by the train.
"Ay, trample — to the devil trample!
Our princely sport must needs be ample!"

And now, as in a field of corn
The panting prey a shelter seeks,
A husbandman, with look forlorn,
Stands forth, uplifts his hands, and speaks;
"Oh! mercy, noble lord! and spare
The poor man's sweat and hoary hair!"

The pitying right-hand cavalier
Then mildly warns and blandly pleads;
But, taunted by his horrid feere,
Who goads him on to devilish deeds,
The Wildgrave fiercely spurns his warner,
And hearkens to the left-hand scorner.

"A vaunt, vile dog! — else, by the devil,"
The Wildgrave shouted furiously,
"My blood-hounds on thy bones shall revel:
Halloo, companions! follow me!
And lash your whip-thongs in his ear,
Until the reptile quake for fear!"

Soon said, soon done — the Wildgrave springs
Across the fence with whoop and hollow,
And, bugle-filled, the welkin rings,
As hound, and horse, and hunter follow,
Who trample down the yellow grain,
Until the ruin reeks again.

The sounds once more the stag awaken;
Uproused, he flies o'er heights and plains,
Till, hotly chased, but uno'ertaken,
A pasture-ground at last he gains,
And crouches down among the heather,
Where flocks and cattle browse together.

But on, by grot, and wood, and hill,
And on, by hill, and wood, and grot
The yelling dogs pursue him still,
And scent his track, and reach the spot;
Whereon the herdsman, filled with trouble,
Falls face to earth before the Noble.

"O! mercy, lord! Let not thy hounds
On these defenceless creatures fall!
Bethink thee, noble Count, these grounds
Hold many a widow's little all!
Sirs, as ye hope for mercy yet,
Spare, spare the poor man's bitter sweat!"

And now the gentler cavalier
Renews his prayer, and sues and pleads —
But, taunted by his godless feere,
Who goads him on to hellish deeds,
The Wildgrave scowls upon his warner,
And hearkens to the left-hand scorner.

"Audacious clay-clod! hast thou done?
I would to Heaven thy herds and thou,
Calves, cows, and sheep, were bound in one!
By all that's damnable I vow
That were ye thus, 'twould glad me well
To hunt ye to the gates of Hell!

"Halloo, companions! follow me —
Ho! tally-ho! hurrah! hurrah!"
So, on the hounds rush ragingly,
And grapple each his nearest prey:
Down sinks the herdsman, torn and mangled,
Down sinks his herd, all gashed and strangled.

Grown feebler now, the stag essays,
His coat besplashed with foam and blood,
To reach, by many winding ways,
The covert of a neighbouring wood,
And, plunging down a darksome dell,
Takes refuge in a hermit's cell.

But hark! the horn! the clangorous horn,
The harsh hurrah and stunning cheer,
Along the blast afresh are borne,
And horse and huntsman follow here,
Till, startled by the barbarous rout,
The old recluse himself comes out

"Back, impious man! What! wilt profane
GOD'S venerated sanctuary?
Behold! His creatures' groans of pain
Even now call down his wrath on thee:
Be warned, I charge thee, for the last time,
Or swift perdition waits thy pastime!"

Again the right-hand cavalier
In earnest mood entreats and pleads;
But, taunted by his grisly feere,
Who goads him still to hellish deeds,
The Count shakes off his faithful warner,
And hearkens to the left-hand scorner.

"Perdition here, perdition there,
I reck not, I," the Wildgrave cried;
"Ay, even through Heaven itself I swear
I'd count it noble sport to ride.
What care I, dolt! for thee or GOD?
I'll have my will and way, unawed."

He sounds his whip, he winds his horn —
"Halloo, companions! Forward! On!"
But, scattered like the mists of morn,
Lo! horse and hound and man are gone!
And echoing horns and yagers' hollows
The stillness of the grave-porch swallows.

The Wildgrave glances round, amazed;
In vain the bugle meets his lip:
In vain his toneless voice is raised;
In vain he tries to wield his whip;
He spurs his horse on either side,
But neither to nor fro can ride.

All round the air shows clogged with gloom,
And through its blackness dense and dread
Sweep sounds as when the surges boom.
Anon above the Wildgrave's head
Red lightning cleaves the cloud asunder,
And then these words burst forth in thunder: —

u O! foe of Heaven and Human-kind!
Accursed wretch, less man than fiend,
Whom neither love nor law can bind!
Even now thy victims' cries ascend
Before the judgment-seat of GOD,
Where Justice grasps the avenging rod!

“Fly, monster, fly! and henceforth be
Chased night and day by demon-hordes,
The sport of Hell eternally,
For warning to those ruthless lords
Who, sooner than forego their mirth,
Would desolate both Heaven and Earth!"

A lurid twilight, sulphur-pale,
Forthwith envelopes wild and wood:
What horrors now his heart assail!
What frenzy fires his brain and blood,
While that pale sulphur-lightning flashes,
And ice-winds hiss and thunder crashes!

Then thunder groans, the ice-winds blow,
The woods are clad in sulphur-sheen;
When, rising from the earth below,
A black, gigantic hand is seen,
Which grasps the Wildgrave by the hair,
And whirls him round and round in air.

The flaming billows round him sweep
With green, and blue, and orange glow;
And, wandering through that burning deep,
Move shapeless monsters to and fro,
Till from its gulf, with howl and yell,
Up rush the ghastly hounds of Hell.

Thus first began that Yager's chase —
And, chorussing his shrieks and cries,
Still after him throughout all space
His bellowing escort onward flies;
All day through Earth's deep dens and hollows,
All night through upper air it follows.

And ever thus, by night and day,
Through shifting moons and wheeling years,
He sees that phantom crew alway;
And night and day he ever hears
Their hellish yells and hideous laughter
Borne on the winds that follow after.

This is the Demon-Yager's Chase,
Which, till the years of Time be told,
At midnight oft through airy space
The shuddering Landmann must behold;
And many a huntsman knows full well
The tale which yet he dreads to tell.