THE DEATH OF ULRIC.
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And still streamed forth the purple tide;"So late, aloft, I saw him ride,In all life's grandeur and its pride; Now, here he lies."
Yes, yes, in death the warrior lay,Each moment ebbed his life away,The helm unloosed, the forehead bare,Upraised to Heaven in silent prayer.Then gently spoke: "Dear Fritz, no, no,'T is vain, 't is vain; let—let it flow!Weep not for me. Death is no themeFor weeping. It most sweet doth seem To yield my breath.Oh! nothing in this world hath beenSo slandered, with thy friendly mien,Thy face, so hopeful, so serene, As thou, oh Death!""Sweet, pitying Heaven! my heart will break!"My breath, it fails; poor Sultan takeMy parting gift, and for my sakeBe gentle with him, Fritz; and whenThou reachest Rudolstadt again,And ridest him, all joyous, onThrough wood and vale, o'er hill and lawn, Each sylvan path I see!The mossy steep, the silent wood,Look ! how the yellow golden flood,The very spot on which we stood, Bid her remember me.""Oh, dearest friend! oh, gracious Heaven!His senses wander ———""I have striven, Not all in vain, end now the spellI break at last. Sweet boy, farewell!Thy hand! I die—all cold—all dark!My blessing to thy m———. Hark! hark!They call! what bright forms round me gather!Ha! yes; my blessing to thy father!"
