| |
| COME, maids and matrons, to caress | |
| Wiesbaden’s gentle hind; | |
| And, smiling, deck its glossy neck | |
| With forest flowers entwined. | |
| |
| Your forest flowers are fair to show, | 5 |
| And landscapes to enjoy; | |
| But fairer is your friendly doe | |
| That watched the sleeping boy. | |
| |
| ’T was after church—on Ascension day— | |
| When organs ceased to sound, | 10 |
| Wiesbaden’s people crowded gay | |
| The deer-park’s pleasant ground. | |
| |
| There, where Elysian meadows smile, | |
| And noble trees upshoot, | |
| The wild thyme and the camomile | 15 |
| Smell sweetly at their root; | |
| |
| The aspen quivers nervously, | |
| The oak stands stilly bold, | |
| And climbing bindweed hangs on high | |
| His bells of beaten gold. | 20 |
| |
| Nor stops the eye till mountains shine | |
| That bound a spacious view, | |
| Beyond the lordly, lovely Rhine, | |
| In visionary blue. | |
| |
| There monuments of ages dark | 25 |
| Awaken thoughts sublime, | |
| Till, swifter than the steaming bark, | |
| We mount the stream of time. | |
| |
| The ivy there old castles shades | |
| That speak traditions high | 30 |
| Of minstrels, tournaments, crusades, | |
| And mail-clad chivalry. | |
| |
| Here came a twelve years’ married pair, | |
| And with them wandered free | |
| Seven sons and daughters, blooming fair,— | 35 |
| A gladsome sight to see. | |
| |
| Their Wilhelm, little innocent, | |
| The youngest of the seven, | |
| Was beautiful as painters paint | |
| The cherubim of heaven. | 40 |
| |
| By turns he gave his hand, so dear, | |
| To parent, sister, brother; | |
| And each, that he was safe and near, | |
| Confided in the other. | |
| |
| But Wilhelm loved the field-flowers bright, | 45 |
| With love beyond all measure, | |
| And culled them with as keen delight | |
| As misers gather treasure. | |
| |
| Unnoticed, he contrived to glide | |
| Adown a greenwood alley, | 50 |
| By lilies lured, that grew beside | |
| A streamlet in the valley; | |
| |
| And there, where under beech and birch | |
| The rivulet meandered, | |
| He strayed, till neither shout nor search | 55 |
| Could track where he had wandered. | |
| |
| Still louder, with increasing dread, | |
| They called his darling name; | |
| But ’t was like speaking to the dead,— | |
| An echo only came. | 60 |
| |
| Hours passed till evening’s beetle roams, | |
| And blackbird’s songs begin; | |
| Then all went back to happy homes, | |
| Save Wilhelm’s kith and kin. | |
| |
| The night came on,—all others slept | 65 |
| Their cares away till morn; | |
| But, sleepless, all night watched and wept | |
| That family forlorn. | |
| |
| Betimes the town-crier had been sent | |
| With loud bell, up and down; | 70 |
| And told the afflicting accident | |
| Throughout Wiesbaden’s town: | |
| |
| The father, too, ere morning smiled, | |
| Had all his wealth uncoffered; | |
| And to the wight would bring his child | 75 |
| A thousand crowns had offered. | |
| |
| Dear friends, who would have blushed to take | |
| That guerdon from his hand, | |
| Soon joined in groups, for pity’s sake, | |
| The child-exploring band. | 80 |
| |
| The news reached Nassau’s Duke: ere earth | |
| Was gladdened by the lark, | |
| He sent a hundred soldiers forth | |
| To ransack all his park. | |
| |
| Their side-arms glittered through the wood, | 85 |
| With bugle-horns to sound; | |
| Would that on errand half so good | |
| The soldier oft were found! | |
| |
| But though they roused up beast and bird | |
| From many a nest and den, | 90 |
| No signal of success was heard | |
| From all the hundred men. | |
| |
| A second morning’s light expands, | |
| Unfound the infant fair; | |
| And Wilhelm’s household wring their hands, | 95 |
| Abandoned to despair. | |
| |
| But, haply, a poor artisan | |
| Searched ceaselessly, till he | |
| Found safe asleep the little one, | |
| Beneath a beechen tree. | 100 |
| |
| His hand still grasped a bunch of flowers; | |
| And (true, though wondrous) near, | |
| To sentry his reposing hours, | |
| There stood a female deer | |
| |
| Who dipped her horns at all that passed | 105 |
| The spot where Wilhelm lay; | |
| Till force was had to hold her fast, | |
| And bear the boy away. | |
| |
| Hail! sacred love of childhood,—hail! | |
| How sweet it is to trace | 110 |
| Thine instinct in creation’s scale, | |
| Even ’neath the human race. | |
| |
| To this poor wanderer of the wild | |
| Speech, reason, were unknown,— | |
| And yet she watched a sleeping child | 115 |
| As if it were her own; | |
| |
| And thou, Wiesbaden’s artisan, | |
| Restorer of the boy, | |
| Was ever welcomed mortal man | |
| With such a burst of joy? | 120 |
| |
| The father’s ecstasy, the mother’s | |
| Hysteric bosom’s swell, | |
| The sisters’ sobs, the shout of brothers, | |
| I have not power to tell. | |
| |
| The workingman, with shoulders broad, | 125 |
| Took blithely to his wife | |
| The thousand crowns; a pleasant load, | |
| That made him rich for life. | |
| |
| And Nassau’s Duke the favorite took | |
| Into his deer-park’s centre, | 130 |
| To share a field with other pets | |
| Where deer-slayer cannot enter. | |
| |
| There, whilst thou cropp’st thy flowery food, | |
| Each hand shall pat thee kind, | |
| And man shall never spill thy blood,— | 135 |
| Wiesbaden’s gentle hind. | |
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