"Tell on; who are her faithful guards?"
"My two blue eyes alway."
"Tell on; who is her minstrel free?"
"My rosy mouth, I say."
"Brave servants has the dame, indeed;
But does strange livery choose,—
Made up of colors manifold,
Shining with rainbow hues."
"From each quarter of the city,
With eight boys I have fought;
Four sorts of cloth to the conqueror,
As tribute, they have brought."
"The best of servants, to my mind,
The dame's must surely be;
She is, I wot, the beggar's queen,
Who keeps a table free.
"The noble lady should not far
From my royal palace be;
Arise, three ladies, and three lords,
And bring her in to me."
Little Roland, holding fast the cup,
From the splendid hall he hies;
To follow him, at the king's command,
Three lords, three ladies, rise.
And after now a little while,
The king sees, far away,
The noble ladies and the knights
Return without delay.
The king he cries out suddenly,—
"Help, Heaven! see I aright?
'Tis my own blood, in open hall,
I have treated with cruel slight.
"Help, Heaven! in pilgrim dress I see
My sister Bertha stand;
So pale in my gay palace here,
A beggar's staff in her hand!"
Lady Bertha sinks down at his feet,
Pale image of despair;
His wrath returns, and he looks on her
With a stern and angry air.