COME, Wiesbaden. THE CHILD AND HIND. NOME, maids and matrous, to caress And, smiling, deck its glossy neck Your forest flowers are fair to show, And landscapes to enjoy ; But fairer is your friendly doe 'Twas after church on Ascension day – There, where Elysian meadows smile, The wild thyme and the camomile The aspen quivers nervously, And climbing bindweed hangs on high Nor stops the eye till mountains shine Beyond the lordly, lovely Rhine, There monuments of ages dark Till, swifter than the steaming bark, The ivy there old castles shades Of minstrels, tournaments, crusades, Here came a twelve years' married pair, Seven sons and daughters, blooming fair, Their Wilhelm, little innocent, The youngest of the seven, Was beautiful as painters paint 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, With love beyond all measure, And culled them with as keen delight As misers gather treasure. Unnoticed, he contrived to glide By lilies lured, that grew beside And there, where under beech and birchThe rivulet meandered, He strayed, till neither shout nor search Could track where he had wandered. Still louder, with increasing dread, But 't was like speaking to the dead, 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 morn; Their cares away till But, sleepless, all night watched and wept That family forlorn. Betimes the town-crier had been sent With loud bell, up and down; And told the afflicting accident The father, too, ere morning smiled, And to the wight would bring his child 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. 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, 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, No signal of success was heard A second morning's light expands, Unfound the infant fair; And Wilhelm's household wring their hands, Abandoned to despair. But, haply, a poor artisan Searched ceaselessly, till he Found safe asleep the little one, Beneath a beechen tree. 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 The spot where Wilhelm lay; Till force was had to hold her fast, Hail! sacred love of childhood, — hail! How sweet it is to trace Thine instinct in creation's scale, Even 'neath the human race. To this poor wanderer of the wild And thou, Wiesbaden's artisan, Restorer of the boy, Was ever welcomed mortal man With such a burst of joy? 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, Took blithely to his wife |