Classic Poem

Rechberger was a youngster wild
Who travellers of their cash beguiled.
Within a church, as best he might,
He thought to while away the night.

At last, when midnight came, he rose;
To seize th' expected prize he goes;
He knew that ere the break of day
A merchant-train would pass that way.

Ere far they rode, he stayed his steed:
“My trusty groom, ride back with speed;
My riding-glove I quite forgat,
'Tis on the bier where late I sat.”

Returned the groom with pallid cheek;
“The de'il may go your glove to seek!
A ghost sits on the bier upright,
My hair is bristling yet with fright.

The glove was on his withered hand,
With fiery eyes its shape he scanned;
He stroked it o'er with rapturous leer,
My limbs are quaking yet for fear.”

In haste Rechberger wheeled about,
He fought the ghost with courage stout;
The ghost perforce he backwards bore,
The glove is on his hand once more.

Then spake the ghost in eager tone:
“Tho' naught you grant to be mine own,
Yet for a twelvemonth let me wear
This nice, this soft, this pliant pair?”

“I'll lend them for a year to thee,
To prove how true the de'il can be;
They will not burst, I dare opine,
Upon such withered paws as thine.”

Thence rode Rechberger, fearing naught;
His man and he the forest sought.
Far off, the cock is crowing clear;
When hark! the tramp of horse they hear.

The youngster's heart beat fast and strong:
Along the road a sable throng
Of horsemen masked all slowly ride;
Awhile the youngster draws aside.

The last of all the train doth lead,
All riderless, a coal-black steed;
Bridle and saddle both he wears,
A sable saddle-cloth he bears.

Then up Rechberger rode, and said:
“Say, who commands this cavalcade?
Pray tell me, lad, for whom you lead,
All riderless, this noble steed?”

“For one whom men Rechberger call,
Who serves my master best of all;
If he within the year be slain,
This steed shall then his weight sustain.”

The cavalcade had passed away—
Rechberger to his groom 'gan say:
“Now let me from my horse descend,
I fear my life draws near its end.

If, then, my horse will own thy hand,
If thou canst use my shield and brand,
Receive them as thy share of gain,
Serve God, and quit thy follies vain.”

Rechberger to a convent went:
“Abbot, though for a monk ne'er meant,
Yet let me as a layman here
Serve thee in penitence sincere.”

“To judge thee by thy spurs, I ween,
Thou hast a fearless horseman been;
Then be it thine the steeds to mind
That rest within our stables find.”

But when a year had run its course,
The abbot bought a wild black horse;
'Twas given to Rechberger's care,
It madly reared, and pawed the air.

It struck him near the heart amain
That down he sank in mortal pain;
Then in the forest-depths it ran,
And ne'er again was found by man.

At midnight, by Rechberger's tomb,
Clothed all in black, appeared a groom;
A mettled steed he held, a pair
Of gloves the saddle-bow doth bear.

Rechberger from his coffin breaks,
The gauntlets from the saddle takes,
And straight into the saddle flies;
The grave-stone serves to help him rise.

This lay should make young men beware
That of their gloves they take good care;
And that they ne'er should deem it right
To prowl about the roads by night.