The lusty Lord, rejoicing in his pride, He draweth down; before the armed Knight With jingling bridle-rein he still doth ride; He crosseth the strong Captain in the fight; The Burgher grave he beckons from debate; He hales the Abbot by his shaven pate, Nor for the Abbess' wailing will delay; No bawling Mendicant shall say him nay; E'en to the pyx the Priest he followeth, Nor can the Leech his chilling finger stay ... There is no king more terrible than Death. All things must bow to him. And woe betide The Wine-bibber,--the Roisterer by night; Him the feast-master, many bouts defied, Him 'twixt the pledging and the cup shall smite; Woe to the Lender at usurious rate, The hard Rich Man, the hireling Advocate; Woe to the Judge that selleth right for pay; Woe to the Thief that like a beast of prey With creeping tread the traveller harryeth:-- These, in their sin, the sudden sword shall slay ... There is no king more terrible than Death. He hath no pity,--nor will be denied. When the low hearth is garnished and bright, Grimly he flingeth the dim portal wide, And steals the Infant in the Mother's sight; He hath no pity for the scorned of fate:-- He spares not Lazarus lying at the gate, Nay, nor the Blind that stumbleth as he may; Nay, the tired Ploughman,--at the sinking ray,-- In the last furrow,--feels an icy breath, And knows a hand hath turned the team astray ... There is no king more terrible than Death. He hath no pity. For the new-made Bride, Blithe with the promise of her life's delight, That wanders gladly by her Husband's side, He with the clatter of his drum doth fright; He scares the Virgin at the convent grate; The Maid half-won, the lover passionate; He hath no grace for weakness and decay: The tender Wife, the Widow bent and gray, The feeble Sire whose footstep faltereth,-- All these he leadeth by the lonely way ... There is no king more terrible than Death. ENVOY. Youth, for whose ear and monishing of late, I sang of Prodigals and lost estate, Have thou thy joy of living and be gay; But know not less that there must come a day,-- Aye, and perchance e'en now it hasteneth,-- When thine own heart shall speak to thee and say,-- There is no king more terrible than Death. 1877. A. D. [Footnote 1: This Chant Royal of the King of Terrors is--with Mr. AUSTIN DOBSON'S consent--here reprinted from his _Collected Poems_, 1896.] LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS N.B.--The German titles are in general modernized from those which appear above the engraver's proofs. The numerals are those of the cuts. THE CREATION I _Die Schoepfung aller Ding._ Eve is taken from the side of Adam. THE TEMPTATION II "_Adam Eua im Paradyss._" Eve, having received an apple from the serpent, prompts Adam to gather more.