“‘Flee, flee!’ they cry, ‘he is mad, Count Ludwig;
He rides through the street to-day
With his beard unshorn, and his cloak brier-torn:
He has met with the Elle-maid gay!’
“‘I fear him not, my knight, my Ludwig’
(The bride’s dear lips did say),
‘Though he comes from the woodland, he is my Ludwig;
He saw not the Elle-maid gay.
“‘Welcome, my lord, my love, my Ludwig!’
But her smile grew ashen-gray,