A CHILD refused to go betimesTo church like other people；He roam'd abroad， when rang the chimesOn Sundays from the steeple.
His mother said： "Loud rings the bell，Its voice ne'er think of scorning；Unless thou wilt behave thee well，'Twill fetch thee without warning."The child then thought： "High over headThe bell is safe suspended--"So to the fields he straightway spedAs if 'twas school-time ended.
The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring，Roused by the mother's twaddle；But soon ensued a dreadful thing！--
The bell begins to waddle.
It waddles fast， though strange it seem；
The child， with trembling wonder， Runs off， and flies， as in a dream；The bell would draw him under.
He finds the proper time at last，And straightway nimbly rushes To church， to chapel， hastening fastThrough pastures， plains， and bushes.
Each Sunday and each feast as well，His late disaster heeds he；The moment that he bears the bell，No other summons needs he.
1813.
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第一章FAITHFUL ECKART，"OH， would we were further！ Oh， would we were home， The phantoms of night tow'rd us hastily come，The band of the Sorceress sisters.
They hitherward speed， and on finding us here， They'll drink， though with toil we have fetch'd it， the beer，And leave us the pitchers all empty."Thus speaking， the children with fear take to flight， When sudden an old man appears in their sight：
"Be quiet， child！ children， be quiet！
From hunting they come， and their thirst they would still， So leave them to swallow as much as they will，And the Evil Ones then will be gracious."As said， so 'twas done！ and the phantoms draw near， And shadowlike seem they， and grey they appear，~Yet blithely they sip and they revel The beer has all vanish'd， the pitchers are void；With cries and with shouts the wild hunters， o'erjoy'd，Speed onward o'er vale and o'er mountain.
The children in terror fly nimbly tow'rd home， And with them the kind one is careful to come：
"My darlings， oh， be not so mournful！--
"They'll blame us and beat us， until we are dead."--"No， no！ ye will find that all goes well，" he said；"Be silent as mice， then， and listen！
"And he by whose counsels thus wisely ye're taught， Is he who with children loves ever to sport.
The trusty and faithful old Eckart.
Ye have heard of the wonder for many a day， But ne'er had a proof of the marvellous lay，--Your hands hold a proof most convincing."They arrive at their home， and their pitchers they place By the side of their parents， with fear on their face，Awaiting a beating and scolding.
But see what they're tasting： the choicest of beer！
Though three times and four times they quaff the good cheerThe pitchers remain still unemptied.
The marvel it lasts till the dawning of day；All people who hear of it doubtless will say：
"What happen'd at length to the pitchers？"In secret the children they smile， as they wait；At last， though， they stammer， and stutter， and prate，And straightway the pitchers were empty.
And if， children， with kindness address'd ye may be， Whether father， or master， or alderman he，Obey him， and follow his bidding！
And if 'tis unpleasant to bridle the tongue， Yet talking is bad， silence good for the young--And then will the beer fill your pitchers！
1813.
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