First rings it deep, and full, and mild,
    Like to the song of a nightingale;
  Then like the roar of a torrent wild;
    Then mutters, at last, like the thunder’s fall,
  The glorious Luck of Edenhall.

  “For its keeper, takes a race of might
    The fragile goblet of crystal tall;
  It has lasted longer than is right;
    Kling! klang!—­with a harder blow than all
  We’ll try the Luck of Edenhall!”

  As the goblet, ringing, flies apart,
    Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall;
  And through the rift the flames upstart;
    The guests in dust are scattered all
  With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!

  In storms the foe with fire and sword! 
    He in the night had scaled the wall;
  Slain by the sword lies the youthful lord,
    But holds in his hand the crystal tall,
  The shattered Luck of Edenhall.

  On the morrow the butler gropes alone,
    The graybeard, in the desert hall;
  He seeks his lord’s burnt skeleton;
    He seeks in the dismal ruin’s fall
  The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.

  “The stone wall,” saith he, “doth fall aside;
    Down must the stately columns fall;
  Glass is this earth’s Luck and Pride;
    In atoms shall fall this earthly hall,
  One day, like the Luck of Edenhall!”

* * * * *

  ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD[34] (1859)

  You came, you went, as angels go,
    A fleeting guest within our land. 
  Whence and where to?—­We only know: 
    Forth from God’s hand into God’s hand.

JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF

* * * * *

  THE BROKEN RING[35] (1810)

  Down in yon cool valley
    I hear a mill-wheel go: 
  Alas! my love has left me,
    Who once dwelt there below.

  A ring of gold she gave me,
    And vowed she would be true;
  The vow long since was broken,
    The gold ring snapped in two.

  I would I were a minstrel,
    To rove the wide world o’er,
  And sing afar my measures,
    And rove from door to door;

  Or else a soldier, flying
    Deep into furious fight,
  By silent camp-fires lying
    A-field in gloomy night.

  Hear I the mill-wheel going: 
    I know not what I will;
  ’Twere best if I were dying—­
    Then all were calm and still.

[Illustration:  JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF]

* * * * *

  MORNING PRAYER[36] (1833)

  O silence, wondrous and profound! 
    O’er earth doth solitude still reign;
  The woods alone incline their heads,
    As if the Lord walked o’er the plain.

  I feel new life within me glow;
    Where now is my distress and care? 
  Here in the blush of waking morn,
    I blush at yesterday’s despair.