At length, by slow degrees, the truth
O'er his young being stole,
And with sad step he went his way
No more for that blest babe to play,
The tear-drop in his soul.
City of Washington, May 24, 1858.
THE ERL-KING.
(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.
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