Chapter VII: Part 7

"Does it no longer please thee here?" asked the dwarf, with a quick-clouding face. "Ye men are right difficult to please! Thy ancestors have dwelt here for ages, happy and contented, and now ye would forsake the tower that has sheltered thy race so long. Ye are very ungrateful. If I had known that that was all that troubled thee, I should not have left my hiding-place. But it is already late; seek thy couch and rest well!"

The spirit vanished, and the Countess followed his advice; but troubled dreams sported around the head of the sleeping lady, and fantastic scenes passed before her fancy.

It seemed as if she saw the dwarf from her window go out at the entrance of the tower, large as a giant, striking in the air with his hands all sorts of odd signs and motions, and with a powerful voice she heard him cry: "Slide on! Slide on!"[2]

[2] "_Rücke dich! Rücke dich!_"

And hardly were these words out of his mouth when the Haarburg was raised on unseen hands from its foundations high in the air, so high that the Countess was seized with giddiness, and awoke in terror.

As she opened her eyes it was already light; but the sun had not yet risen above the mountains, so she could only have slept a short time, but felt so much strengthened and refreshed that she rose, dressed, and went to the window to enjoy the fresh morning. But who shall describe her amazement when she saw the town of Wernigerode directly beneath, and on closer observation found that the old tower Haarburg had been moved in the night to the mountain where her husband had so earnestly desired to have it.

As soon as her first astonishment had passed, the Countess hastened to her still slumbering husband, led him to the window, and feasted her eyes on his boundless astonishment and joy.

Filled with gratitude, she called the benevolent dwarf, to thank him; but he did not answer the summons, and has never been seen in the new Schloss.

The Three Wood-fairies.

The great plain north of the Harz mountains was not always the smiling, fruitful tract of land the eye now beholds.

A great lake covered a large portion of it; the ground around this lake was swampy and unfruitful, and dense forests shut out the sunlight.

But the deep shadows of these woodlands, where the foot of man seldom wandered, this sacred stillness, undisturbed by the noise and bustle of human life, was notwithstanding peopled.

Creatures of tender form and rare beauty--not so ethereal as the air, not so material as man--danced lightly, as if borne by the breezes, through the woods, which were their possession, intimately interwoven with their existence, for they grew with the trees which they inhabited, and drooped and died with them.

When the moon mounted her blue throne, and cast her pure silvery glance over the silent and noble forests, it was as if a light shiver fell on the trees, as if they became animated, and assumed the forms of maidens, who in the pale light skipped upon the mountains, or descended to the lake or the Bode, to visit their neighbours the mermaids, still and innocent as themselves, who swam the light waves radiant in the smile of Queen Luna.

But as time went on these pleasant reunions were interrupted by the human race, which penetrated the forests, mercilessly cut down everything that stood in the way of its selfish ends, and made these peaceful regions the stage of its vain ambitions and aims, never dreaming that with every tree that was hewn down a life more pure and beautiful than its own was destroyed.

Soon the joy at these nightly assemblies was changed to sorrow, and when the moonlight called the fairy forms of wood-nymphs and mermaids into life, they wept together over their vanished sisters and friends, and not one was sure that the following day the same sad fate would not be her destiny.

A powerful Kaiser was come into the district with a vast retinue and an army, had built himself a Burg on the banks of the Bode, and bestowed the land on his followers, who were to cut down trees, drain swamps, and transform the wilderness into a fruitful plain.

The woods gave place speedily to a bare tract, and the maiden circle grew ever smaller. There, on the mountain west of Thale, where in its bosom the antediluvian giant animal skeletons were found, an old warrior had received permission from the Kaiser to clear the land.

He toiled unweariedly, dug the soil, felled the trees one after the other, till of the sacred grove only three trees were left standing.

"Now, only these three trees left," thought he to himself, stretched himself wearily in the grass to rest a minute and strengthen himself for the last stroke; but fatigue overcame him, so that he sank into a deep sleep, and only awoke when the moon and stars shone in the heavens.

Then he saw three maidens sitting under the green roof of a maple tree, silent and mournful; their eyes were wet as if dewdrops hung in the drooping eyelashes; they uttered complaining words in soft tones like the rustling of the night wind in the leaves.

"Let us take leave of each other," lisped softly the voice of one; "our time is come. When the rosy dawn awakes he will come who cut down our sisters; and as they are fallen, so must we. Desolate will be the spot that saw us so oft united in joy, lonely the moonlight that shone on our dance. The nymphs of the lake and the mountain stream will look out for us, longing for our coming, and ask, 'Where are our friends of the mountain? Why do they not descend when the queen of the stars illuminates our palace?' Happy sisters, ye are as yet safe from our mournful fate, for ye are secure in your retreat from the barbarian!"

"Weep not, sister!" said another, with light moaning; "weep not over our inevitable destiny. To see that we must die grieves me not, for all our beloved are gone on before us; but that we are the last of our race, and our line becomes with us extinct, that it is that fills my heart with woe.

"That our race might continue I would live on, and if I could appear in person to him who will come in the morning with his axe to annihilate us, I would entreat him for the blessing of life, and he would not refuse my entreaty.

"But only night gives us being comprehensible to men; the day confines us stiff and without form in our narrow house."

"Ah! if we could only appear to him!" added the third; "if we could only appear and beg him for life, we should not plead in vain; I have seen him mourn too, have heard him lament the beautiful forest.

"And what benefit would it be to him to destroy us also? What benefit has it been to him that he has destroyed our sisters? Will the products of this soil repay the labour of tillage? But we would gladly, though invisible, help him to cultivate the land during the hours when we have a form, if he would take pity and spare the last of a great race."

The old soldier, who had listened in surprise to this singular conversation, could contain himself no longer. "By the sword of my Kaiser!" he cried, springing to his feet, "cursed be the hand that should do you an injury, ye innocent beings; destroy you I will not, no, but protect and defend you with my goods, blood, and life.

"But who are ye? Was it a dream that charmed my senses?"

Terrified, the maidens had vanished at his first words.

Now their voices resound from the trees as they reply to his question.

"No dream has deceived thee. Thou hast seen the last of the wood-nymphs who adorn this mountain. If thou wilt protect them, so spare the trees of the wood that still stand; they will thank thee."

Dawn broke over the mountains, the voices were silent; they sighed in the morning wind, but the soldier could not understand the tones; at first he was inclined to hold all for a dream, but what he had heard stood so clear in his mind that he finally doubted no longer, and zealously defended the three trees.

On his dying bed he commended them to his sons, and charged them never to sell the land.

Long the fields near the three trees thrived above all others, and at night three maiden forms could be seen following the plough in the moonlight.

But alas! the trees and land came into the hands of an owner who held the story of the three wood-fairies for a fable, and he cut the trees down.

Since then the mountain has been barren and fruitless, and the three sisters have never been seen with the plough again.

The Shepherds' Towers.

Two shepherds in Quedlinburg, father and son, poor but honest people, were once watching their flocks on the green meadows.

It was a lovely morning; the lambs played with the wild flowers, the birds sang so joyfully in the neighbouring wood, the breezes were so mild and odorous, that the hearts of the shepherds were filled with an unusual gladness, and they both began to play a sacred air on their reed pipes.

The bells of the royal convent began to ring, and their melodious harmonies penetrated the heart, powerful and irresistible as a voice from heaven.

"There is something glorious in such a solemn chime," said the elder shepherd to his son, who sat near him. "The tones seem to come down to us from the eternal heights, and remind us of our duty and our better home."

"It is indeed true," replied the younger. "The chimes possess an incomprehensible power over the mind, and awake the inner life to devotion and holy reflections; and I never look across to the towers whence those bold and fearless tones rise on the air, without seeing in them landmarks pointing to heaven."

"Oh, what a pity!" added the father, "that our new church in the New Town must stand so long without either tower or bells. What a pity that a work to God's honour must remain unfinished, while the rich build palaces and heap up treasures. How willingly every poor person in the town would contribute, if thereby the edifice could only be completed. But without a special blessing from God, many years may pass away before the church is finished."

"Father!" cried the son, interrupting the conversation, "where are our dogs? I don't see them by the flock, and still the faithful creatures have never yet left their post without our commands. What can have started them and allured them away? Where shall we find them again?"

"Yonder, my son!" said the father, whose eye had swept exploringly the neighbourhood, pointing toward the near forest. "I see them running as fast as possible toward the wood; they scent game, no doubt, and are on the track."

And they both whistled, and called the dogs by name, but in vain, for the hitherto so obedient animals only turned their heads slightly at the sound of the well-known voices, and then continued their wild race.

Astonished at the unwonted disobedience, and anxious lest they might lose the dogs, the shepherds decided to follow them to the borders of the wood. The flock was feeding quietly in a meadow, and there was no danger of its wandering away.

The border of the wood was soon reached, but no trace of the dogs was to be seen. They had already penetrated the thick underbrush, and a stripe in the dewy grass showed the way they had taken.

"Wilt thou remain here, father, and watch that no wolf come out of the wood and scatter the flock?" said the son, and hurried on in the direction the dogs had taken.

The father remained standing, keeping his eyes on the lambs; but it was not long before he heard the missing dogs bark, and fancied he heard also the voice of his son.

He listened. He was not mistaken. The son called with all his might his father's name, who, terrified lest something dreadful had happened, hastened after the voice.

The way he had to take was perfectly strange to him, although he had often been in the same wood before; also the forest seemed very much altered; in the place of the young, slender trees, stood primeval, mighty oaks, and under their deep shades, through an opening in the trees, rose the grey dilapidated walls of a ruined church.

At the entrance to this church, half hidden by wild briars, trees, and ivy, he saw his son standing with a look of amazement and with an uncertain air, for he too had never discovered these ruins, and curiosity and fear of enchantment fought a sharp contest in his breast.

The arrival of the father, however, put an end to all fear, and after a short consultation, whether they should enter the desolate, ghost-like ruins, curiosity triumphed, so much the more, since they observed that the track of the dogs led through the bushes into the wall. With considerable effort they made their way through the rank weeds and thorns, and reached a high portal, fallen in on one side. They went through it, and saw themselves surrounded by a dim twilight, since the openings in the arch ceiling were insufficient to light the interior, and the slender arched windows were so overgrown with ivy and other plants that they stood in a green night.

They could scarcely distinguish the spot where the altar had stood, and where masses of broken, scattered stones betrayed the fury of the storm that had destroyed it.

Approaching the spot, they were seized with trembling as they discovered an old crucifix in the wall, and, bending the knee, murmured a prayer.

A noise startled them; looking around they perceived the dogs behind a portion of the broken altar, scratching and digging, without troubling themselves at the presence of their masters, as if they had been fastened by enchantment to the spot.

The shepherds approached the corner where they were scraping and pawing, and looked attentively at the hole growing every moment larger and deeper in the ground, and soon a sheet-iron chest became visible.

The dogs barked as if for joy at the discovery, stopped their work, and sprang barking from one shepherd to the other.

The shepherds set to work to lift out the chest, which they found tremendously heavy. It contained a mass of gold and silver coins with a stamp of a time long past.

Before they could recover from their astonishment, the dogs began again to scratch the ground in the same spot, and soon a second chest came to view, in which the shepherds found golden goblets, candlesticks, and other sacred vessels of immense value.

Not till now were the dogs satisfied, but as the second chest was opened they hurried back to the flock, and displayed an unwonted zeal to fulfil their duty.

The two shepherds repaired to the Abbess of the St. Servatius Convent in Quedlinburg, related what had occurred, and expressed a wish that two towers should be built on the new Nikolai[1] church with the found treasure.

[1] _Nikolai_--St. Nicholas.

At the news of the wonderful discovery, half the town went out to the wood to see the spot where the treasure had been found. But no ruin was to be discovered; all was vanished without leaving a trace, and even the shepherds could not find the spot again.

If the treasure in their possession had not proved to the contrary, they would have held the whole thing for a dream.

The Nikolai church still stands, shaded by old lindens, and at its west end the shepherds' two towers.

The figures of the two shepherds and their dogs, hewn in the stone, still look down upon the ancient, imperial city from these towers, where they were placed so many centuries ago as memorials of a somewhat unusual unselfishness.

The Treasure-hunters of the Sieberthal.

Many centuries ago there lay in the valley of the little river Sieber, where now is the Long Meadow, copper-works.

A mass of scoria, the greater part of which has been employed on the _chaussée_, once marked the spot.

The owners of these works, who are said to have been very rich, together with the works, vanished in a single night.

The following morning nothing remained to be seen but this huge heap of scoria.

It was said the owners had buried their treasure in it before their disappearance.

Soon after that event, a blue flame was seen every night between eleven and twelve on this heap of scoria, which a black man endeavoured to keep burning until midnight.

The report of a Goldfeuer[1] in the Sieberthal soon spread, and many saw the flame, but no one was bold enough to attempt to gain the treasure.

[1] _Goldfeuer_--Goldfire.

At last a man from Lonau, who had experience in treasure-seeking, determined to attempt it, and engaged several workmen to assist him in the undertaking.

On the way to the spot he commanded his men: "Let no one speak while digging, or all is lost."[2]

[2] A search for all objects under enchantment must be conducted in silence. If one speaks, the charm is immediately broken.

They all promised, and gave him the hand as pledge.

Meanwhile they arrived at the spot, the work began, and soon they came to a huge cauldron filled with Holland ducats, which it was necessary to raise.

Just as they had raised the vessel to the surface they heard wheels.

The workmen paused and listened, when lo! a carriage appeared drawn rapidly by four doves.

The driver cried, "Guten Abend! Geht's gut?" But not a soul replied.

Directly after came a fellow in a trough along the same road, saying hurriedly: "Shall I not also come?" and made the most desperate efforts to reach the dove-drawn carriage.

One of the workmen laughing, cried mockingly: "The poor devil must also drive!"

_Hutsch_! In an instant blue flame and cauldron had vanished!

The men stood gazing at each other with long faces, when instantly their hair turned grey, and they all died soon of grief and vexation.

The Enchanted Maiden of the Zorge.

Like Princess Lise, she sometimes appears as a serpent. On the Hohegeissberg, near the river Zorge, the White Maiden of the Staufenburg[1] is seen every seven years with a bunch of keys.

[1] The Staufenburg bei Zorge.

Once came a shepherd from Kloster Walkenried and pastured his flock in the vicinity of the mountain.

Early in the morning the White Maiden stood on the cliffs, making her footprints in the rock, and sang gaily.

When she had finished her song she descended to the shepherd, and asked him if he would rescue her from the enchantment.

He replied he would gladly if he could.

She told him she would return the next morning, at first in the same form which he now saw, after which she would become a serpent. If he would kiss her in her serpent form, she would be free.

The shepherd promised solemnly.

The next morning she appeared again on the cliffs and sang as before.

When the sheep had all filed past, the maiden descended from the rocks, came to him as a serpent, and sprang upward toward him, that he might give her the serpent-kiss; but he turned aside in horror.

The serpent suddenly vanished, with such a shriek of anguish that the shepherd was ever afterward perfectly deaf.

She is seen on the Staufenburg bei Zorge every seven years at Easter, with a bunch of keys and a Pomeranian dog white as snow.

She waits from eleven to twelve for a rescuer, and when the time is expired the dog barks.

This dog is said to have been her lap-dog before the curse.

There is a Harz legend that the Ascension took place from the mountain of the Staufenburg.

The Accursed Maiden of Lichtenstein.

Not far from Lichtenstein is a spring, where once a shepherd rested always at noonday and watered his flocks.

One day, when he sat there as usual, a serpent came from under a stone and looked kindly at him.

At first he was seized with terror, but at last felt quite at home with her.

The second day she came again, from her head half in human form addressed the shepherd, and told him he must take courage the next day and kiss the serpent, when he would thereby become always fortunate and happy.

She came the third day from under the stone, crept up to him, and raised her head to kiss him.

At first he was filled with disgust, but taking courage he shut his eyes and kissed her.

And there stood before him no longer a serpent, but a beautiful girl, and more--a princess.

Then the shepherd forsook his sheep, went with the maiden to the king, who gave him the Princess to wife.

The Great Hall in the Petersberg.

One day a child plucked a flower on the Petersberg near Goslar while playing.

Then the mountain opened, and the child came into a great hall, where many noble steeds neighed and tossed their proud heads, and the viands were served on gold and silver.

All who sat there wore golden crowns, and a silver plate was given the child to take home.

The parents of the child sought the _Wunderblume_, that they might also see this chamber, but failed.

These guests of the mountain are the old Kaisers who once held their Court in Goslar.

Spar-die-Müh.[1]

[1] Spare the trouble.

At the north end of the Bergstadt[2] Lautenthal lies the Bielstein.

[2] Mining town.

Below, at the north-west end of the town, the little river Innerste flows northward towards the Bielstein, and along its base.

Above this bend in the stream, where it turns to flow along the base, only a few steps from the stream, is a cave called the Zwergloch, or Dwarf-cave.

The level place at the foot of the Bielstein bears the name of Spar-die-Müh.

In the cave dwelt in earlier times three dwarfs, who often lent the people of Lautenthal money, and also gold and silver plate for weddings and baptisms.

Now it happened once that these borrowed objects were not returned. So when the people came again to borrow, they heard a voice call, "Spar-die-Müh!"

And from that time the dwarfs declined to oblige the neglectful citizens in any way, and since then the place has been called Spar-die-Müh.

The Dwarf-King Hibich.

The Hibichenstein, near Grand, consists of two colossal limestone cliffs leaning against each other, which are said to have been formed in the distant days when giants lived in the Hercynia Sylva,[1] from a pebble which a giant threw out of his shoe.

[1] The Hercynia Sylva of the Romans was of greater extent than the Harz mountains. It included the Schwarzwald, Thuringen, Bohemia, and the Harz.

In the Hibichenstein dwelt dwarfs, who often attended the children in Grund.

Their King Hibich was ages old, with shaggy hair like a bear, a very wrinkled face, and a long ice-grey beard, which possessed magical power.

He always carried a silver miner's lamp that shone clear as the sun, and wore a golden crown.

Although so small, he could stretch himself much larger.

Formerly his dwarf majesty was allowed to appear in the upper world every five hundred years, but he is no longer permitted to leave his subterranean abode.

He protected the forests, and played serious jokes upon those who did them any injury. But he was benevolent and kind to those in distress who complained to him of their trouble.

Once a miner's wife, whose husband had long lain ill, went from Grund into the wood to gather cones for the baker, who gave her bread for them.

When she had entered the forest, Hibich came to her and asked: "What seekest thou here?"

Then she told him all her want and distress, whereupon he gave her a plant to cure her husband, and pointed out to her a spot where she would find plenty of cones.

Arrived there, she could at first find none, but directly the cones began to fall in showers from the trees, not striking her, however, but all falling into the basket.

When she lifted the basket to put it on her back, she found it much heavier than the cones had ever been before.

Returning to the spot where the King had first met her, he asked her if she had found cones. Then she told him what had happened, and the Dwarf-King revealed to her that his people had done it, and added the cones were pure silver.

He told her she was to take a sufficient number of them to make herself and her sick husband comfortable, and to provide for her children, and with the rest she was to build a church in Grund; but by no means to forget the healing plant.

The sick man became "healthy as a fish" from the hour when he made use of this powerful herb.

In the forester's house in Grund lived in the olden days a forester who had lost his wife early, and had an only son, a good-hearted youth, only somewhat over-inquisitive and indiscreet.

One Sunday afternoon the forester's son, with his friend, the son of a miner, went into the wood for a walk.

As they reached the Hibichstein they fell into a conversation concerning its height, and the miner's son said he should like to see the person who could climb to the top.

The other said that was nothing, he would do it; but his friend endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose, saying no one who had climbed up could ever get down again, but was always found the next day broken to pieces at the base.

He was not be dissuaded, and climbed to the summit, where he found a large level space, and began to dance and shout for joy, and called to his friend to climb up. But the other shook his head, and told him not to forget he had to come down.

Finally, when his joy had cooled, the forester's son decided to descend, but could not leave the spot, for the Dwarf-King Hibich held him enchanted to the rock for his presumption.

He called to his friend and entreated him to go and tell his father.

Then the forester came with his gun and would shoot his son down.

But as he was about to fire, came Hibich and demanded what he was going to do; and as he replied he was going to shoot his son down from the mountain, the King advised him not to attempt anything so foolish.

Again he took aim, when it began to thunder and lighten, and the rain poured down in torrents.

Night came on, and the forester was obliged to go home till morning.

Hardly had he gone when the dwarfs arrived, all in miners' dress, and each carrying a mine-lamp.

They had the most skilful ladders, which they placed one on the other, and now they held together as if they had been glued.

As soon as this ladder was ready, and reached the top of the Hibichenstein, a dwarf stood at each side and lighted the way.

The forester's son must now seat himself on the shoulders of the dwarf on the topmost rung of the ladder; and see! the ladder is wide enough to permit them to descend between the thick line of lamp-bearing dwarfs on either hand.

No sooner had they reached the base than dwarfs, lights, and ladder had vanished.

Then came the old Hibich, took him by the hand, and said: "As thou hast been on the summit of the Hibichenstein, and hast suffered so much anxiety and terror, thou shalt also see the Dwarf-King's castle."

Then they entered through a great arched door into the mountain, and the King conducted him to a large room, where stood chairs and a table.

The walls glittered with pure ore, the ceiling was a single piece of ponderous spar, white as the driven snow, and from it hung a chandelier of mountain crystal and precious stones.

The floor was strewed with branches of firs, and the panels shimmered with gold and jewels.

In the centre of this superb chamber stood a table of hematite; before it a silver chair, upon which the Dwarf-King seated himself, and commanded his companion also to sit down.

Then he struck with a silver rapier upon the table of hematite, which produced a tone the sweetness of which was never heard before.

A thousand tiny female forms appeared in answer to the summons, bearing strawberries and raspberries; and while the King and his guest partook of the fruit, the dwarf maidens played the most delicious music.

Afterward costly wine was brought in silver goblets.

When the repast was ended, Hibich led his young visitor into an adjoining chamber, on one side of which was silver, on the other gold, and at the royal command, "Silver!" "Gold!" the forester's son must take of the metal named till he was laden with wealth.

Then the Dwarf-King said: "Wilt thou do me a favour? Namely, never to permit any one to shoot at birds on the Hibichenstein; for in this way bits of the rock are broken off.

"As long as the great Hibichenstein remains the great, my crown is secure; but so soon as it becomes the little Hibichenstein, I lose my crown, and can never appear on the earth again."

The youth promised, and Hibich conducted him to another chamber, where stood a delicious bed of fragrant moss, wished him Gute Nacht, and promised to wake him early.

The forester's son had slept but a short time, as it seemed to him, when he was waked up suddenly. It was early dawn, and he shivered, exclaiming, "How cold it is!"

He lay under a bush at the foot of the Hibichenstein, but all the gold and silver that the Dwarf-King Hibich had given him was heaped up beside him.

The King of Tipplers.

A legend is told in Ellrich of an Earl von Klettenberg--not the devout founder of the Huy Wald Abbey, whose forsaken wife built Kloster Walkenried.

The Earl rode one Sunday morning to Ellrich, as an invited guest to a grand banquet, where all the guests were to drink for a wager, the reward being a chain of gold.

They drank for hours, till all were _hors de combat_ save four knights.

Three of these leaned against the wall, and only the Earl von Klettenberg stood upright; to him, therefore, the victory was awarded.

He resolved to show himself to the people as the winner, and commanded his horse to be brought. Four of his attendants lifted the Earl into the saddle, and he rode through the village.

As he reached the St. Nicholas Church, he heard the chanting of vespers, rode through the open door into the church, and spurred on his horse till he had ridden through the congregation, whose vesper-chant changed to terror and dismay.

But as he reached the steps of the altar, all the four horse-shoes fell off, and the horse and his rider sank to the ground.

The four huge horse-shoes were nailed to the church door, where they remained for centuries, and the awful tale was oft related to trembling listeners.

At last a fire destroyed the church, and the four horse-shoes are unhappily lost.

The Needle's Eye

Near Kloster Ilfeld, close by the _chaussée_, stands on a mountain a huge boulder, which has a small hole through the centre.

All the servants from Nordhausen and the other surrounding places, when they drive into the forest the first time for wood, must creep three times through this hole--which is only done with difficulty; and as they creep in, and on the opposite side out, their comrades lash them with their whips.

If the new-comer will not indulge in this pastime, he must pay money.

The new pupils in the high school at Ilfeld must also, as a joke, creep through the Needle's Eye.

This stone a giant is said to have thrown out of his shoe.

Legend of St. Hubertus.

St. Hubertus, the Patron Saint of the House of Anhalt, was a passionate lover of the chase. One day, hunting in the old oak wood on the mountain Hubertushöhe, which lies between Gernrode and Ballenstedt, when about to shoot a deer, the Saint saw a cross rise from the head of the animal, when he immediately lost his passion for hunting, and, according to the legend, "his only game became eternity and heavenly bliss."

Bathilde von Ballenstedt.

In the Saxon Chronicles we are told that Ludwig, King of the Franks, took Schloss Ballenstedt, and carried away captive the fair daughter of the Earl of Askanien.

"Dost thou not hear the snorting of steeds?
Franks are marching through the wood
From the destroyed castle; in their midst
The captive daughter.
Yes, like smothered tones of anger,
It rustles in the foliage of the oaks.
Sadly they shake their tops,
As if they knew of the robbery."

UNWIN BROTHERS,
PRINTERS,
CHILWORTH AND LONDON.