Streams renew’d for ever

      Quickly bringeth he;

    River after river

      Rusheth on poor me!

  Now no longer

    Can I bear him;

    I will snare him,

      Knavish sprite!

  Ah, my terror waxes stronger!

      What a look! what fearful sight

Oh, thou villain child of hell!

Shall the house through thee be drown’d
Floods I see that wildly swell,

O’er the threshold gaining ground.

    Wilt thou not obey,

      Oh, thou broom accurs’d?

    Be thou still I pray,

      As thou wert at first!

  Will enough

    Never please thee?

    I will seize thee,

      Hold thee fast,

  And thy nimble wood so tough,

      With my sharp axe split at last.

See, once more he hastens back!

Now, oh Cobold, thou shalt catch it! 
I will rush upon his track;

Crashing on him falls my hatchet.

    Bravely done, indeed!

      See, he’s cleft in twain!

    Now from care I’m freed,

      And can breathe again.

  Woe, oh woe!

    Both the parts,

    Quick as darts,

      Stand on end,

  Servants of my dreaded foe!

      Oh, ye gods protection send!

And they run! and wetter still

Grow the steps and grows the hail. 
Lord and master hear me call!

Ever seems the flood to fill,

    Ah, he’s coming! see,

      Great is my dismay!

    Spirits raised by me

      Vainly would I lay!

   “To the side

     Of the room

     Hasten, broom,

       As of old!

   Spirits I have ne’er untied

       Save to act as they are told.”

1797.
-----
The bride of Corinth.

[First published in Schiller’s Horen, in connection with a friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.]

Once a stranger youth to Corinth came,

Who in Athens lived, but hoped that he From a certain townsman there might claim,

  As his father’s friend, kind courtesy.

      Son and daughter, they

      Had been wont to say

  Should thereafter bride and bridegroom be.

But can he that boon so highly prized,

Save tis dearly bought, now hope to get? 
They are Christians and have been baptized,

  He and all of his are heathens yet.

      For a newborn creed,

      Like some loathsome weed,

  Love and truth to root out oft will threat.

Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,