The bare, unguarded place explor'd,-
And to the hilt I plunged the sword-
Up from the vitals sprang the blood,
Black-bubbling spouted forth the flood.
Then down it bore me in its fall;
Buried beneath that giant ball,

In dizzy swoon upon the ground

I lay ;-till sense returns once more—
I see my squires that stand around,
And the dead dragon in its gore.”

Then burst from every eager breast The loud applause, so long supprest. Scarcely the knight those words had spoken, Than, on the vaulted rafters broken, Times ten re-echoing and ascending, Came the vast shout of thousands blending; As loud, the knights their voices raise, "His brows be crown'd with wreaths of bays!" The crowd, in pomp, would lead him round, From street to street his deed proclaimWhen the Grand Master sternly frown'd, And calling silence, silence came.

And thus he spoke-" With valiant hand
Thou from the pest hast purged the land.
Let crowds their idol hail; in thee
A foe our Order can but see!
Thy breast has cherish'd to its bane
A worm more fell than Dragon slain—

The snake that poisons hearts within,
And breeds dissension, strife, and sin.
That worm is WILL, superb and vain,
Which spurns at all restraints that bind-
Which sacred order rends in twain-- ·
'Tis that which doth destroy mankind.

"The Turk from valor gains renown;
Obedience is the Christian's crown-
There, where from heaven descending, trod
In humblest guise the Saviour God,
Our fathers on that holy ground
Did first this knightly Order found,
That heaviest duty to fulfill,

By which we conquer strong self-will.
Our law thy thirst of glory broke-

Vain-glorious—from my sight depart.
Not he who scorns the Saviour's yoke
Should wear His cross upon the heart."

Then burst the angry roar of all,

As with a tempest shook the hall;

The noble Brethren plead for grace—

Mute stood the youth, with downward face;
Laid by the robe and sacred band,

And meekly kissed the Master's hand,

And went-the Master mark'd him part-

"Return," he cried,

66

and to my heart:

The harder fight of Christ is won:

Here, take this cross-meet prize for thee

Thou hast battled with thyself, my son,
And conquered-through HUMILITY!"

NOTE.

In the poem just presented to the reader, Schiller designed, as he wrote to Goethe, to depict the old Christian chivalry-balf knightly, half monastic. The attempt is strikingly successful. Indeed, "The Fight of the Dragon" appears to me the most spirited and nervous of all Schiller's narrative poems, with the single exception of the "Diver;" and if its interest be less intense than that of the matchless "Diver," and its descriptions less poetically striking ard effective, its interior meaning or philosophical conception is at once more profound and more elevated. In "The Fight of the Dragon," is expressed the moral of that humility which consists in self-conquest-even merit may lead to vain-glory-and, after vanquishing the fiercest enemies without, Man has still to contend with his worst foe,—the pride or disobedience of his heart. "Every one," as a recent critic has remarked, "has more or less his own 'fight with the Dragon-his own double victory (without and within) to achieve." The origin of this poem is to be found in the Annals of the Order of Malta-and the details may be seen in Vertot's History. The date assigned to the conquest of the Dragon is 1342. Helion de Villeneuve was the name of the Grand Master-that of the Knight, Dieu-Donné de Gozon. Thevenot declares that the head of the monster (to whatever species it really belonged), or its effigies, was still placed over one of the gates of the city in his time. Dieu-Donne succeeded De Villeneuve as Grand Master, and on his gravestone were inscribed the words "Draconis Exstinctor."

Scarcely comes Bacchus, the joyous, unto me; Than Cupid, the laughing child, hastens to woo me, And Phoebus his poet to own!

Accord

They come near and nearer,
Their numbers are swelling-
See all the Celestials

Are filling my dwelling.

O guests!-heavenly chorus!
Say how can the earthborn

Regale ye as due ?—

me, Immortals, the life that ye live!

To the Gods nothing worthy a mortal can give:

Take me up to Olympus with you,

The pleasures dwell only

In Jupiter's palace

Oh, pour out the nectar,

Oh, reach me the chalice!

"Reach him the chalice,

Fill full to the Poet!

Oh, Hebe! brim high!

Steep his eyes in the dews of celestial delight,
And let Styx the abhorrent be shut from his sight;
Let him feel as a son of the sky.

It murmurs, it sparkles,

The Fount of Delight;

From the heart falls the burden,
The scale from the sight.

1 This has been paraphrased by Coleridge.

THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN.

H, nobly shone the fearful Cross upon your mail

OH,

afar,

When Rhodes and Acre hail'd your might, O lions of the war!

When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom;

Or standing with the Cherub's sword before the Holy

Tomb.

Yet on your forms the apron seem'd a nobler armor

far,

When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war!

When ye, the high-born, bow'd your pride to tend the lowly weakness,

The duty, though it brought no fame,' fulfill'd by Christian meekness

Religion of the Cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower,

The twofold branches of the palm-HUMILITY AND

POWER.

1 The epithet in the first edition is ruhmlose.