Ekkehard: A Tale of the Tenth Century. Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Joseph Victor von Scheffel

When Attila was king amongst the Huns,--
Whose fame had sounded over lands and seas,
Whose valiant hordes, had conquer'd many kings,
Destroying all who ventured to resist,
And granting peace to those who bent their necks
Low in the dust, before his mighty sword,
And paying heavy ransom thus were spar'd,--
One day the bugle sounded far and wide
Announcing that another war was near,
Calling the men to arms, and then to horse
To go where'er their leader should decree.
And Attila, when all had been prepar'd,
Spoke thus unto his men, who breathless stood
To hear, what their great king would have to say.
"Wearied of this long peace, I have resolv'd,
That though unask'd, and like enough to be,
Unwelcome too, we yet will tarry not,
But pay a visit to the town of Worms
Franconia's proud and noble capital."
Scarce had he ended, when a roaring shout,
Broke on the silence like a cataract,
Loud rose and wild their joyous, swelling cry,
"Long live the king! long live King Attila."
Gay were the festivals then held at Worms
Where Gibich sat in his ancestral halls,
To celebrate the birth of his first son,
The heir which Heaven had denied him long.
But suddenly a pallor, icy cold
Spread o'er his features, turning them to stone,
As if Medusa's head he had beheld;
For in that evil moment he had heard,
That from the Danube came a dreadful host
Of enemies, who soon would flood his land,
In numbers countless as the stars of heaven,
And swifter than the scorching desert-winds.
In frighten'd haste a council then was held,
In which the wisest men the land possess'd,
Were to decide what it were best to do.
And in this danger, one and all agreed,
That, as resistance were mere idle boast,
'Twere better not to irritate their foes
But offer tribute, and give hostages;
And rather give the something, which they ask'd,
Than lose their all,--land, fortunes, with their lives.
But as King Gibich's son, Gunther by name,
Was but a suckling yet, as hostage he
Could not be sent,--Sir Hagen in his place,
Gibich's own cousin was selected then,
A young and stalwart knight, whose pedigree
Prov'd his descent from noble, Trojan blood.
So, he was sent, with ample bags of gold
To make the peace with Attila the Hun.
In those same days, there reign'd in Burgundy,
King Herrich with a strong and mighty hand;
Whose only child, the gentle Hildegund,
Was fairer far, and lovelier to behold,
Than any other maid in all the land
Whose future queen, she one day was to be.
But when Franconia had obtain'd the peace,
The Huns with all their concentrated force,
Approach'd the frontiers now of Burgundy;
And at their head tow'ring above the rest,
There rode the king, the dreaded Attila.
Behind him, pressing forward eagerly,
A body-guard of noble Hunnic chiefs.
The earth reechoed with their horses' tramp,
The clashing of their swords frighten'd the air,
And in the fields, an iron wood of spears,
Shone out with reddish light, like dewy meads,
On which the sun is casting his first rays.
And thus they scal'd the mountains, cross'd the streams,
For nothing could impede their reckless speed.
Already they had pass'd the river Rhone,
And now came pouring in, a surging sea
Of men and riders, fearful to behold.
At Chalons sat King Herrich, fearing nought,
When from the belfry rose the watchman's cry;
"I see a cloud of dust, foreboding ill,--
Our enemies have come, and so beware,
And shut your houses ere it be too late."
The tale, of how Franconia had escap'd
By paying tribute, had reach'd Herrich's ear,
Who now address'd his vassals in this way:
"Well do we know that brave and valiant men,
Franconia holds;--and yet they did not dare,
Resist the Huns, but made a treaty with
King Attila, and so I do not see,
Why we, like fools, should risk to lose our lives.
One cherish'd daughter do I but possess--
Yet for my country's weal I'll offer her
As hostage to the Huns, to guard the peace."
Bare-headed and unarmed, his messengers
Then went to meet the Huns, and sans delay,
Into the presence of King Attila
They soon were brought, who did receive them well
As was his wont,--to dissipate their fears,
And then with gracious mien address'd them thus:
"Indeed, believe me, I myself prefer
A friendly treaty far, to bloody war;
I am a man of peace, and only fight
Against the wanton fools, who dare to doubt
The power which I hold from Heaven's self:
Therefore, your Master's offer I accept."
This message then was brought unto the king,
Who now went out himself, accompanied
By a long train of heavy laden men
Bearing the gold and jewel's manifold
Which as a tribute to the Huns he paid.
And by the hand, fair as the morning star
He led his only daughter, Hildegund.
The peace was sign'd,--farewell sweet Hildegund
The pearl of Burgundy, its hope and joy.
Full of content at this new treaty made,
King Attila now led his warriors brave
On to the west, to Aquitania
Where Alpher sway'd the sceptre, strong and brave.
An only son, Waltari was his pride
Who yet a boy, promis'd one day to be
All that a father's heart could wish to see.
Herrich and Alpher, old and faithful friends,
With many a solemn oath on either side,
Had long decreed, that when the time should come,
Their children's hands in wedlock should be join'd.
Sadly King Alpher brooded in his halls,
On that which it behov'd him now to do.
"Alack!" he cried, "that in my hoary days
I cannot find my death, by lance or sword;
But now that Burgundy has deign'd to crave
A shameful peace, such as Franconia's king
First did conclude,--what now is left to me,
But do the same?--dispatch my messengers
And offer bribes of gold,--and worse than all,
My only son as hostage to the foe!"
Thus spoke King Alpher, and so was it done.
Laden with gold, the Huns returned home,
With Hagen, Hildegund and Alpher's son,
They gladly greeted their Pannonian home,
And here our captives led no evil life,
For Attila was not a cruel man
By nature;--so he had them treated well,
Almost as if they'd been his flesh and blood.
The maiden Hildgund, to his wife the queen,
Ospirin was her name, entrusted was,
Whilst the two princes, he himself took care
To see well-taught in all the warlike arts
Neglecting nothing, fitted for their rank.
And so they grew in years and wisdom too,
Outstripping all in strength, and witty speech,
For which the king did love them both alike
And placed them high above the noble Huns.
The German maiden too, soon won the heart
Of Ospirin, the proud and haughty queen.
The soft and winning ways of fair Hildgund,
Did gain her confidence, until at last,
She made her keeper of the treasure-room.
Next to the queen she was in honour held;
Her slightest wish, scarce uttered was obey'd.
Meanwhile King Gibich fell a prey to death,
So that his throne was now by Gunther held,
Who broke the treaty made with Attila,
And offer'd scoff and taunts instead of gold,
Unto the messengers that he had sent.
As soon as Hagen heard this welcome news,
He fled by night, and safely reach'd the court
Of Gunther, who receiv'd him full of joy.
Great was the sorrow in the morning, when
King Attila first heard of Hagen's flight;
And with a cunning mien the queen spoke thus:
"Oh Lord and spouse, I warn thee to beware,
Lest Walter too, thy pillar of support
Try to escape, like to his faithless friend.
Therefore I pray thee, follow my advice,
And to Waltari say with friendly speech:
In many battles thou hast prov'd thy arm,
Strong and untiring in thy master's cause.
Therefore, I fain would give thee now some sign,
Of my approving love and gratitude.
Of all the noble Hunnic maidens here,
I bid thee choose the best to be thy wife
And what of goods and lands thou wilt demand,
It shall be granted, ere you say the word."
These words well pleas'd the king, and show'd him how
A woman's cunning often hits the mark,
Which has escap'd the prudent eye of man.
And so he bade Waltari come to him
And told him all the queen had said before.
But though his words he temptingly set forth
Waltari guessing all that lay beneath,
And having long before form'd other plans,
With subtle speech, his fears tried to dispel.
"Oh prince, all I have done is quickly told,
And scarce deserves the kindly praise you deign
To lavish on my poor, though faithful deeds.
But if I were to follow your command,
And take a wife, my time would be engross'd,
By other cares and duties manifold;
Which all would serve to make me turn away,
And leave the path of honour by your side.
For when you love a wife, you dislike war,
Which is to tear you from her loving arms.
And so, my gracious lord I do beseech,
Not thus to banish me from his dear side.
And never, when you order me to fight
By night or day, my sword you'll idle find;
And in the midst of battle ne'er my eyes
Shall be found looking backwards, towards the spot
Where wife and children I did leave behind,--
A thought to lame my arm and dim my eye.
Therefore, by your own valour and my own,
I beg you not to force this yoke on me."
Then Attila was touch'd, and in his soul
He thought, "Waltari never thinks of flight!"
Meanwhile rebellion dared to raise her head
In distant lands, amongst another tribe,
Against whose province war was now proclaim'd,
And young Waltari then was named chief
Of all the army; and it was not long
Before a battle wagèd long and fierce.
Full valiantly they fought the Hunnic hordes,
Filling the air with their redundant cries,
To which the trumpets join'd their piercing voice.
Like glaring sheets of lightning flew the spears
Splitting the shields and helmets of the foe,
And as the pelting hailstones in a storm,
So fell the arrows, swift and merciless.
And wilder still, and fiercer grew the fight,
Until they drew the sword, and man to man they fought.
Then many a rider lay with fractur'd skull,
Beside his horse, fell'd by the self same sword.
And in the foremost ranks Waltari fought,
As if King Death himself with nimble scythe,
Were mowing down his harvest,--thus he stood
Filling with awe the hearts of all around,
And causing a wild flight where'er he turn'd
So that the bloody victory was won,
And great the booty which they made that day.
Giving the signal then to rest themselves,
Now from their armed dance, Waltari plac'd
A wreath of verdant oak leaves on his head,
And all his men who saw it, did the same.
And thus triumphantly they did return,
Each to his sep'rate home, with gladsome heart.
And to Attila's palace, Walter went,
Riding but slowly, like a weary man.
But when the servants saw him thus approach,
With eager, curious looks, they hurried forth,
And seizing his good palfrey by the reins
They bade him welcome; offering their help
To rest him after all his past fatigues,
And putting questions to him 'bout the war,
And if their arms were crown'd with victory.
But scanty answers to these quests he made;
Then entering the hall he found Hildgund,
Who blushingly receiv'd his proffer'd kiss,
Then hurried off to fetch a cup of wine,
To still his thirst, after so much fatigue.
Long was the draught he took, for as the earth
Gladly absorbs the rain after long drought,
So did the wine refresh his parchèd tongue.
Then, clasping the fair maiden's hand in his,
For both knew well that they were long betroth'd,
He thus spoke out before the blushing maid:
"Many a year has softly glided by,
Whilst in captivity we long'd for home,
For though the cage that holds us, be of gold,
'Tis still a cage, and ne'er can I forget,
The ancient promise, which made thee my bride,
In times of freedom, ere the Huns had come."
These words, like fiery arrows found their way,
Into the ears of Hildgund, who to try,
The faith and truthfulness of him who spoke,
With tearful voice, and flashing eye replied:
"How darest thou dissemble thy true thoughts,
For ne'er thy heart did feel, what says thy mouth,
For thy proud heart is set on nobler game,
Than the poor maiden, whom thou mockest now."
With steady eyes, that gaz'd a half reproach,
The valiant hero thus his speech resum'd:
"Far be deceit and falsehood from my lips,
Which never yet have utter'd one false word,
And verily thou know'st I love thee well,--
And if I, in thy woman's soul could read
I fain would tell thee something, secretly,
Whilst not a spying ear is list'ning near."
Fully convinc'd of having wrong'd her knight,
Hildgunde, weeping fell upon her knees,
"Go where thou wilt, and I will follow thee,
Through grief and dangers, until Death us part."
With gentle words and loving arms he rais'd
The weeping maiden; saying all he knew
To comfort her, and then reveal'd his plans:
"My soul has long been weary of this yoke,
And fill'd with yearning for my fatherland,
Yet never would I go without Hildgund,
My own beloved future wife and queen."
And smiling through her tears, Hildgund replied:
"My lord, the words thou speakest, I have borne,
For many years, a secret in my heart.
So let us fly then when and how thou wilt,
And our love will help us to surmount
All dangers that may rise in our path."
Then further Walter whisper'd in her ear:
"And as they have entrusted thee with all
The keys unto their treasures, I would have
Thee lay aside the armour of the king,
His helmet and his sword, a master-piece
Of foreign workmanship. Then go and fill
Two chests with gold and jewels to the brim,
So that thou scarce canst lift them off the ground.
Besides, four pair of well-made leathern shoes,
--The way is long,--as many take for thee.
And from the blacksmith fetch some fishing hooks
So that the lakes and rivers which we pass,
May yield us fish, for our support and cheer.
All this a week from this, let be prepar'd,
For then the king will hold a sumptuous feast,
And when the wine has sent them all to sleep,
We two will fly, away to the far west!"
The hour for the feast had come at last
And in the hall, bedeck'd with colours gay,
Attila on his throne, in purple clad,
Presided o'er the feast; whilst round about,
On couches numberless, the others lay.
The tables scarce could bear the heavy load,
Of all the dishes, pleasant to behold;
Whilst from the golden beakers issued forth
Enticing, fragrant scents of costly wines.
The meal had now begun. With zealous grace
Waltari on himself the duty took,
To act as host, encouraging the guests,
To do full honour to the goodly cheer.
And when at last their appetites were sooth'd,
And all the tables from the hall remov'd,
Waltari to the king these words address'd.
"And now, my noble lord and king, I beg,
To give your gracious leave without delay
That the carousing to the meal succeed."
Then dropping on his knees, a mighty cup
Richly adorn'd with many a picture rare,
He thus presented to the king, who said:
"Indeed, my good cup-bearer, you mean well,
By thus affording me the ample means,
To drown my thirst, in this great flood of wine!"
Then laughingly he rais'd it to his lips,
And drank and drank, until the giant cup
Was emptied to the dregs, and fairly stood
The nail-test, as no single drop would flow,
When upside down the beaker then was turn'd.
"Now, follow my example, all of you!"
The old carouser cried, with cheerful voice.
And swifter almost than the chasèd deer,
The cup-bearers now hurried through the hall,
Filling the cups as soon as they were quaff'd,
Each trying in this tournament of wine,
To get the better of his neighbours there.
Thus in short space of time, many a tongue
That often utter'd wise and prudent speech,
Began to stammer,--until by degrees,
The wine did conquer e'en the strongest men;
So that when midnight came, it found them all,
A prey to drunken and besotted sleep.
With soft and careful voice, Waltari now
Call'd to Hildgund, and bidding her prepare,
Went to the stable then to fetch his horse,
Lion by name, his good and trusty steed
That stood awaiting him pawing the ground,
And with dilating nostrils, bit the reins
As if impatient to display his strength.
Then on each side the treasure laden chests
Were fasten'd carefully; some victuals too
Packed in a basket, had not been forgot.
First lifting up the maiden in whose hands
The reins he plac'd, Waltari follow'd her,
His red-plum'd helmet towering above
His massive armour, whose protective strength
Had stood the test, of many fierce attacks.
On either side, he wore a trusty sword,
Beside a Hunnic sabre, short but sharp;
And in his hands both shield and lance he held.
Thus, well prepar'd 'gainst any chance attack
Waltari and his bride rode from the halls
Of Attila for ever--full of joy
All through the long and darksome night they rode,
The maiden taking care to guide the steed,
And watch the treasure, holding in her hand
The fishing-rod, as her companion had
Enough to do to carry all his arms.
But when the morning sun cast his first rays,
Upon the slumb'ring earth, they left the track,
Of the broad highway, turning to the shade
Of lonely woods, and if the wish for flight
Had not been stronger in the maiden's heart,
Than fear,--she fain would have shrunk back,
Before the dangers which seem'd lurking there
Behind each tree; and when a branch but mov'd
Or when some hidden bird its voice did raise,
Her bosom heav'd, with half suppressèd sighs.
But on they rode, having to find their way,
Through pathless woods, and lonely mountain-glens.

---

Yet still they slept, in that vast banquet hall,
Until the sun stood high up in the sky,
When Attila, the king, first did awake,
And rais'd his heavy head, clouded with wine,
Then slowly rose, and stepping to the door,
Call'd out with drowsy voice: "Ye men out there,
Go find Waltari, quick and bring him here,
That he may cheer his king with sprightly talk,
Presenting him the welcome morning-cup."
The servants, to obey his order, went
In all directions, looking here and there,
Yet nowhere was Waltari to be found.
With trembling gait, Dame Ospirin now came,
And from afar was heard her scolding voice,
"What in the name of wonder ails Hildgund,
That she forgets to bring my morning-gown?"
Then, there arose a whisper 'mongst the men,
And soon the queen had guess'd the fatal truth,
That both their captives now had taken flight.
Loud was her grief with which she now exclaim'd,
"Oh cursèd be the banquet, curs'd the wine
Which so much mischief in one night has wrought!
And yet, I who foresaw the coming doom,
Unheeded rais'd my warning voice in vain.
So now the strongest pillar of support,
That propp'd the throne, Waltari too is gone."
Fierce was the anger which beset the heart
Of Attila, who tearing his grey locks
In his impotent rage, could find no words,
In which to utter, all that rag'd within.
During that day he neither ate nor drank,
In gloomy silence brooding o'er his loss,
Even at night, his mind could find no rest,
For stubborn sleep refus'd to close his eyes.
So, tossing restlessly about, he lay
As if his blood were chang'd to liquid fire;
Then madly starting up, he left his couch
And pacing his dark chamber up and down,
His frantic grief in all his acts display'd.
But while in fruitless sorrow, thus the night
Crept by with stealthy, slowly measured tread,
Waltari with his lady-love rode on
In breathless silence, through the Hunnic lands.
But when the rising dawn announc'd the day,
King Attila did call the eldest Huns,
Whose hoary heads were signs of ripen'd wit,
Around his throne, and then address'd them thus:
"He that shall bring Waltari back to me,
That cunning fox who has deserted us,
Him I will clothe, in costly golden robes
And cover him with gifts from head to foot;
So that his very feet shall tread on gold."
'Twas said in vain, for neither count nor knight
Nor page nor slave was found in all the land,
Who had the courage to pursue a man,
Renownèd for his valour and his strength,
Who never yet had found his match and peer,
Whose sword was ever crown'd with victory.
Thus all the king could say, was said in vain
And unavailing were both gold and speech.
Thus unpursued the lovers onward sped,
Trav'ling by night and resting in the day,
In shady nooks and shelter'd mountain-glens
Spending their time in catching birds and fish,
To still their hunger, and to drive away
All idle fancies from their hearts and heads,
So that in all this time, the noble knight
Not once the maiden wanted to embrace.
Full fourteen times the Sun had pass'd his round
Since they had left the halls of Attila,
When in the ev'ning light, between the trees
They saw a sheet of water, flashing bright
And golden in the sunshine,--and at last,
They gave a joyous welcome to the Rhine,
The noble river from whose vine-clad banks
The stately battlements and lofty towers,
Of ancient Worms, Franconia's capital
Rose proudly in the air. A ferry-man
Who then was loitering beside his boat,
Row'd them across, and as a fee receiv'd
Some fish which in the Danube had been caught,
On that same morning by Waltari's hook.
As soon as they had reach'd the other side
Waltari spurr'd his charger to a quicker pace.
The boatman, the next morning brought the fish
Unto the royal cook, who gladly took
The foreign ware; which, daintily prepar'd
He serv'd that very day at the king's board.
Full of surprise King Gunther look'd at them,
Then turning to his guests he said aloud,
"In all the time that in Franconia, I
Have sat upon the throne, I ne'er did see,
A fish like these, amongst the goodly fare
Upon my table; therefore tell me quick
My worthy cook, whence these fair fish may come?"
The cook denounc'd the boatman, who was fetch'd
And to the questions put, thus did reply:
"As I was sitting by the riverside
Just as the sun was slowly gliding down
Behind the hills,--the eve of yesterday,
A foreign rider, in full armour came
Out from the woods, looking so proud and bold
As if he then and there, came from the wars;
And though his armour was not light I trow
He yet did spur his horse to hurry on,
As if by unseen enemies pursued.
Behind him, on the selfsame steed, a maid
Fair as the sun, was seated, whose small hands
Did guide the animal, whose wondrous strength,
I had full leisure to observe the while.
Besides this double freight of man and maid,
It bore two caskets, fasten'd to its sides,
Which, as it shook its archèd neck, gave forth
A ringing, clinking sound of precious gold.
This man I row'd across, and got the fish
Instead of copper payment, from his hands."
As soon as he had ended, Hagen cried
"My friends, I bid ye all rejoice with me!
For surely 'tis my friend Waltari, who
Now from the Huns has like myself escap'd."
Loud were the shouts of joy, which from all sides,
Did greet this welcome news; but full of greed
King Gunther, when the tumult had decreas'd,
With cunning speech, the company address'd.
"I also, my good friends, bid you rejoice
With me, that I have liv'd to see the day,
When the fair treasure, which my father gave
Unto the Huns,--a kindly providence
Has now sent back, and never be it said,
That I had fail'd to profit by my luck."
Thus Gunther spoke, nor did he tarry long,
But choosing from his knights, twelve of the best,
He bade them mount, and follow in this quest,
On which his heart and soul was madly fix'd.
In vain did Hagen, faithful to his friend,
Bid him beware, and try to turn his thoughts,
To better aims,--his words did not avail;
For avarice and lust of gold had made
Their fatal entrance into Gunther's heart.
So from the gates of Worms, the well-arm'd troop
Rode onwards, following Waltari's track.
Meanwhile Waltari and his gentle bride
Had enter'd a dark wood, where mighty trees
Were giving shade and shelter from the heat.
Two rugged hills extended their steep peaks,
In stern and gloomy grandeur heavenwards;
A cool and shelter'd ravine lay between,
Blocked up by narrow walls of sandy rocks.
And cradled in a nest of trees and grass,
A very den for robbers, hard to take,
Which they no sooner spied, than Walter said,
"Here let us rest my love! For many nights
My eyes have tasted neither rest nor sleep."
Then taking off his armour, he lay down
Resting his head upon the maiden's lap.
And further he continued: "while I sleep.
My own beloved, keep a careful look
Into the valley, and if but a cloud
Of dust were rising in the distance, mind
To wake me with a soft and gentle touch
Of thy dear fingers. Do not startle me
All of a sudden, even though a host
Of enemies were coming at a time.
I fully trust thy loving eyes,"--and thus
He clos'd his own and soon was fast asleep.
Meanwhile King Gunther's greedy eye had spied,
The footprints of a solitary horse,
And with exulting joy he cried aloud:
"Come on my faithful vassals! Ere the sun
Has sunk behind those hills, we shall have ta'en
Waltari with his stolen gold, I trow."
His face o'ershadow'd by a darkling cloud
Prince Hagen said: "Believe me noble king,'
That not so lightly you will vanquish him.
Oft did I see how valiant heroes fell,
Stretch'd to the ground by Walter's goodly sword,
Which never miss'd its mark, nor found the man
Who was his match in all the warlike arts."
Unheeded fell these words on Gunther's ear,
And in the heat of noon, they reach'd the glen,
Which as a stronghold nature had array'd.
With wakeful eyes, Hildgundé kept her watch,
When suddenly she saw a cloud of dust
Rise in the distance, and could hear the tramp
Of swift approaching horses. So she laid
Her lily fingers on Waltari's hair,
And whisper'd in his ear: "awake my love,
For I can see a troop of armed men;
Their shields and lances glisten in the sun."
And from his drowsy eyes he rubb'd the sleep,
Then hastily he seiz'd his sword and shield,
Put on the armour, and thus stood prepar'd
For bloody fight, which was to follow soon.
But when Hildgunde saw the knights approach,
She threw herself despairing on the ground,
And with a wailing voice she cried aloud:
"Ah woe is me! the Huns are coming here!
But rather than return a prisoner
A second time,--I prythee my dear lord,
To kill me with thy sword;--so that if I,
Shall never live to be thy wife, no man
Shall dare to make me his reluctant bride."
With soothing words, Waltari then replied:
"Be calm my own, and banish needless fear.
For He, who was my help in former plight,
Will not desert me in my sorest need.
These are no Huns my darling! Silly boys,
Not knowing what the danger they provoke,
In youthful wantonness of stubborn pride."
Then, with a merry laugh he cried aloud:
"Forsooth, look yonder, if I don't mistake
That man is Hagen my alien friend!"
Then stepping to the entrance of the gorge,
The hero boldly utter'd this proud speech:
"I tell ye that not one Franconian man,
Shall bring the tidings home unto his wife
That, living, he had touch'd Waltari's gold,
And,"--but he did not end the haughty speech,
But falling on his knees he humbly ask'd,
God's pardon for his own presumptuousness.
Anon he rose, and letting his keen eye
Glance o'er the ranks of the approaching foes,
He said unto himself, "of all these men
There is but one of whom I am afraid;
And that is Hagen, for I know his strength;
And that in cunning tricks, there is no man
Can claim to be his equal, I believe."--
But whilst Waltari held himself prepar'd
Sir Hagen once again did warn the king:
"If you would hear my counsel, I advise
To send some messenger, and try to get
A peaceful issue; for maybe that he
Himself is ready to give up the gold.
If not, there still is time to draw the sword."
So Gamelo of Metz, a stalwart knight
Was sent as herald to Waltari then,
And soon accosted him, with this demand:
"Tell me, oh stranger knight, whence thou dost come,
What is thy name, and where thy home may be?"
"First let me hear," Waltari then replied,
"Who is the man, whose orders to obey
Thou camest hither?" And with haughty mien,
Sir Gamelo now said: "Franconia's king,
Gunther by name, has sent me on this quest."
Waltari then resum'd: "What does it mean,
To stop and question peaceful trav'lers thus?
Waltari is my name, of Aquitain
Whence, as a hostage to King Attila,
I once was sent whilst I was yet a boy;
And now, full tired of captivity,
I'm turning back to liberty and home."
"If that is so," Sir Gamelo replied,
"I've come to bid thee, to deliver up
Thy golden treasure with yon damsel fair
And thy good steed unto my lord and king;
Who, under these conditions, will be pleas'd,
To grant thee life and freedom unimpair'd."
With anger flashing from his dark-blue eyes
Waltari when he heard this offer made,
Loudly exclaim'd: "Think ye that I'm a fool?
How can thy king claim what is not his own
Commanding me as if he were a God
And I his wretched slave? As yet my hands
Are free and without fetters,--yet, to prove
My courtesy unto thy royal lord
I willingly now offer him herewith
A hundred bracelets of the purest gold."
With this fair offer, Gamelo return'd,
And Hagen when he heard it, eagerly
Said to the king: "oh take what he will give,
Lest evil consequences should ensue.
A fearful dream, which came to me last night,
Does fill my soul with an unusual dread
Of coming ill. I dreamt oh gracious lord,
That we together hunted in the wood
When suddenly a monstrous bear appear'd
Attacking you with such wild vehemence,
That ere I yet could come to rescue you
The bear had torn the flesh up to the hip,
Of your right leg; and when with headlong haste,
I rais'd the lance, it struck me with one paw,
And scratch'd my eye out." But with proud disdain,
The king replied: "I now see verily,
That like thy father, much thou dost prefer,
To fight with thy smooth tongue, than with thy sword."
With burning pain and anger Hagen heard
These bitter words of ill deservèd blame.
Yet, keeping a calm outside he replied:
"If that be your opinion I'll refrain,
From joining in this fight against my friend."
So leading out his horse to a near hill,
He there sat down to watch the bloody game.
Then, Gunther turn'd to Gamelo once more.
"Go then, and tell him that we claim the whole.
And should he still refuse to give it up,
I trow that thou art brave and strong enough,
To force, and throw him with thy valiant sword."
And eager to obey his king's demand,
Sir Gamelo rode out with joyous speed;
And from the distance yet he rais'd his voice,
And cried: "Halloh, good friend, I bid thee haste,
And give the whole of thy fair treasure now,
Into my hands, for my good lord and king."
Waltari heard, but did not deign to speak,--
So louder yet the knight, approaching him,
Repeated the same quest: "Out with thy gold!"
But now Waltari, losing patience too,
Cried out with angry voice: "Leave off thy noise!
One verily might think I were a thief,
Who from thy king had robb'd the treasure here,
Say, did I come to you with hostile mind,
That thus you treat me like an outlaw'd man?
Did I burn houses? or destroy the lands?
Do other damage?--that you hunt me down
Like some obnoxious, hurtful beast of prey?
If then to pass your land, one needs must pay,
I'll offer you the double now, to still
The avarice and greed of your proud king."
But Gamelo, with mocking tone replied.
"Yet more than this I trust you'll offer us,
I'm weary now of talk,--so guard your life!"
And covering his arm with threefold shield,
He threw his lance, which would have struck the mark,
If with a subtle movement, Walter had
Not turn'd aside, so that it glided past,
Full harmless by, to fasten in the ground.
"Look out, here comes the answer,"--with these words,
Waltari hurl'd his spear, which pierc'd the shield
Of Gamelo,--and to his hip did nail
The luckless hand, which just had miss'd its aim.
The wounded knight then letting go his shield,
With his remaining hand tried hard to wrench
The spear out of his side; but ere he could
Succeed in his endeavour, Walter's sword
Had stabb'd him to the heart;--so down he sank,
Without a groan into the bloody grass.
No sooner did his nephew, Scaramund,
Behold his uncle's fall, when loud he cried:
"Leave him to me!--for either I will die,
Or have revenge for my dear kinsman's blood!"
So on he gallop'd, up the narrow path
That to Waltari's rocky fortress led,
Gnashing his teeth with inward fury, that
Could find no other vent, he cried aloud:
"I have not come, to fight for thy mean gold,
But I will have revenge for him who fell
Before my very eyes,--slain by thy hand."
But with unruffled calm Waltari spoke,
"If mine the fault of that, which caus'd the death
Of him thou call'st thy uncle,--may I fall
Pierc'd to the heart by thy own lance or sword."
Scarce had he ended, when in hasty speed,
That work'd its own destruction, Scaramund
Had thrown his lances both; and one was caught,
By Walter's shield, whilst far beyond the mark,
The second in some mighty oak stuck fast.
With naked sword, in blind and furious wrath,
He then bore down upon his enemy,
To split his head with one resounding blow,
Which made the sparks flash forth indignantly,--
But could not pierce Waltari's cap of steel;
A very masterpiece of workmanship.
Before the echo of this mighty blow
Had died away, Waltari's spear had thrown
The rider to the ground; and though he ask'd,
For mercy, 'twas too late; for with one cut
His head was sever'd from his trunk, and thus
He shar'd the doom, that he could not revenge;
And with his uncle, shar'd an early grave.
"Forwards!" was Gunther's cry, "and don't desist,
Before the worn out man shall render up
Both life and gold!"--Then Werinhard rode forth,
To try his chance against yon fearful man.
He was no friend of lances;--all his skill
Lay in his bow,--and from the distance he
Sent many an arrow 'gainst his stalwart foe.
But he, well cover'd by his massive shield
Took ample care, not to expose himself;
So that, before Sir Werinhard came near,
His quiver had been emptied, all in vain;
And full of anger at this first defeat
He now rush'd forward with his naked sword.
"And if my arrows are too light for thee,
Then let me see what this my sword will do!"
"Long have I waited here impatiently,
For thy approach," Waltari made reply,
And like a flash of lightning his good spear
Flew through the air, the harbinger of death;
Missing Sir Werinhard, it hit the horse,
Which rearing backwards in its agony
Threw off its rider, and then fell on him,
And ere Sir Werinhard could raise himself,
Waltari's hand had seiz'd his yellow locks;
Stern and relentlessly he did the same
For him as for the others, and his head
Fell to the ground, where his companions lay
But Gunther still was loth to quit the fight,
So, as fourth combatant, came Ekkefried
He who had slain the duke of Saxony
And liv'd an outlaw since, at Gunther's court.
Proudly he sat upon his red roan steed;
And ere for serious fight he did prepare,
With taunting word and mocking speech he tried,
To rouse Waltari from his outward calm.
"Say, art thou human, or some imp of hell
Who with his magic tricks, by demons taught,
Has thrown and vanquish'd better men than he?
But now, believe me they will be aveng'd!"
But he, with a contemptuous laugh replied:
"Forsooth I know the meaning of such stuff,
And am not frightened by thy idle boasts.
Come on, and I will teach thee my dark tricks,
And prove my being master of my art!"
"I will not keep thee waiting,--so beware!"
And with these words, the Saxon Ekkefried,
With dext'rous hand, his iron spear did throw,
Which striking 'gainst Waltari's shield was broke
To pieces, like some wand of brittle glass.
And with another laugh, Waltari cried:
"Take back thy present, and I warrant thee
Thou'lt find the goblin knows to hit the mark!"
--A moment later, and his fearful spear,
Cleaving the shield, had pierc'd unto the heart
Of Ekkefried, granting a speedy death.
And as his lawful prize Waltari led
His goodly horse away unto the spot
Where Hildgund' still was watching anxiously.
The fifth who came to undertake the fight,
Hadwart by name, had only brought his sword,
With which he hoped to kill this dreadful foe.
And to the king, he said before he went:
"If this my sword, should be victorious,
I prithee, let we have Waltari's shield!"
Spurring his horse, he rode unto the spot,
Where the dead corpses lay blocking the path;
So, jumping to the ground, he cried aloud:
"Come out then from thy corner, thou sly rogue,
Who like a false envenom'd snake dost lie
In ambush, hoping thus to save thy life,
Which I am come to take with my good sword.
And as thy dainty, many-colour'd shield
Will be my booty, I command thee now,
To lay it down, lest it might damag'd be.
And if it were decreed that I should fall,
Thou never wilt escape with thy base life;
As my companions will avenge my death."
With calm composure, Walter, thus replied:
"Indeed, I would not want my trusty shield,
Which more than once to-day has sav'd my life.
Without that shield, I should not now stand here."
"Then wait, and see me take it!" Hadwart cried,
"Thy steed, and aye, thy rose-cheek'd damsel too,
Will soon be mine! Come out then, my brave sword!"
Then there began a fighting, as the like,
Had ne'er been seen before in yonder wood;
So that with wonder and amazement those
Franconians stood, and looked on the while.
At last, to end the combat with one stroke,
Hadwart dealt such a blow, as must have fell'd,
Waltari to the ground, if with his spears
The blow he had not parried, and anon
He wrench'd the weapon out of Hadwart's hand
And threw it far away over his head.
In ignominious flight Sir Hadwart then
Tried hard to save his life, but Alphers' son,
With swifter feet did follow on his heels;
"Stop yet a while, thou hast forgot thy shield!"
And with these words, he rais'd the iron lance;
And struck it through Sir Hadwart's corselet, so
That as he fell, he pinn'd him to the ground.
The sixth who volunteer'd his chance to take
Was Hagen's nephew, young Sir Patavid.
On seeing him prepar'd to meet his doom,
His uncle feeling pity with the lad,
With persuasive speech tried hard to turn
His daring fancy from this bold endeavour,
"Oh, nephew, see how death is lurking there,
And do not waste your fresh and youthful life
Against yon man, whom you will conquer not."
But Patavid not heeding this advice,
Fearlessly went, spurr'd by ambitious pride.
With mournful heart Sir Hagen sat apart,
And heaving a deep sigh he spoke these words:
"Oh ever greedy youth! oh baneful thirst of gold,
I wish that hell would gather all her golden dross,
And set the dragons to watch over it,
Instead of tempting wretched human souls
Into perdition. There's none has got enough,
And to gain more, they risk their very lives
And souls into the bargain. Wretched fools!
That dig and toil and scrape, and do not see
That they are often digging their own grave,
Beside which death stands grinning. Say, what news
Shall I take back to greet thy mother's ears,
And thy poor wife, who waits for thy return?"
And as he thought of her despairing grief,
A solitary tear would trickle down:
"Farewell, farewell for ever, nephew mine!"
He cried in broken accents, which the winds
Did carry off unto Waltari's ear,
Whose heart was touch'd by his old friend's complaint,
And thus address'd the bold, tho' youthful knight:
"I warn thee, my brave lad, to spare thy strength,
For other deeds and not to risk the fate,
Of those who came before thee,--stalwart knights,
For I should grieve to lay thee by their side."
"My death does not regard thee; come and fight,
Forsooth, I did not come for idle talk,"--
Was Patavid's reply, and as he spoke,
His whizzing spear came flying through the air.
But by Waltari's own 'twas beaten off,
With such a mighty stroke, that e'en before the feet,
Of fair Hildgund it fell, close by the cave.
A cry of fear escapèd from her lips.
Then, from her rock, she anxiously look'd forth
To see whether her knight still kept the ground,
Another time he rais'd his warning voice
Bidding his enemy desist from further fight,
Who, heedless of these words, still forward press'd
With nakèd sword in hand, hoping to fell
Waltari with one strong and dext'rous blow.
But he, bent down his head, so that the sword
Not meeting with resistance, cut the air
And draggèd him who held it to the ground;
And ere that he could rise, Waltari's sword
Had dealt the death-blow with unsparing hand.
Quick to avenge his friend, Sir Gerwig now
Did spur his noble steed, which with one bound
Jump'd o'er the bodies that block'd up the way.
And ere Waltari yet could free his sword,
From his last foe, Sir Gerwig's battle-axe
--The fav'rite weapon of Franconians then
Flew through the air, a fearful sight to see.
Quicker than thought Waltari seiz'd his shield
To guard himself,--and with one backward bound
Took up his trusty lance, and thus prepar'd,
Unflinching stood, awaiting the attack.
No single word was said on either side;
Each thirsted for the fight with hungry soul;
One to avenge the death of his dear friend,
The other to defend his life and gold,
And her he valued more, far more than both.
Full long they fought with unrelenting zeal
A well-match'd pair, until Waltari's lance
Lifting the shield of his antagonist,
Did find its way into his corsèlet;
And with a hollow groan he reelèd back
Expiring on the spot where he fell down.
With fear and wonder, the Franconians saw,
Waltari's prowess, and their friend's defeat;
So that at last they all besought the king
To cease from further fight; but he replied:
"Ah well, indeed, I never would have thought
To find such weak and craven-hearted men
Amongst my knights that I deem'd brave before.
What! does misfortune make your spirits fail,
Instead of raising them to boiling heat?
And do you mean to say we should return
Conquer'd and beaten by one single man?
Nay, if before I only wish'd to have
The stranger's gold, I now will have his life!
The blood which he has shed, does cry for blood!"
He ceas'd and at his words, new courage fill'd
The hearts of his brave knights, so that now each
Would be the first to try the bloody game,
And in a file they now rode up the path.
Meanwhile, Waltari there to cool his brow,
Had ta'en his helmet off, and hung it up
On the strong branch of a tall stately oak;
And as the fragrant breezes cool'd his brow
He felt new strength and vigour in his limbs,
But while he thus stood breathing the fresh air,
Sir Randolf on his fiery steed advanc'd
And came upon him with such sudden speed,
That with his iron bar quite unawares
He would have pierc'd Waltari where he stood
If that the armour which did shield his breast,
Had not been forg'd by Weland's dext'rous hands,
And thus resisted Randolf's fierce assault.
Not having time to don his cap of steel,
He seiz'd his shield as Randolf rais'd his sword,
And dealt a cut, which, grazing Walter's head,
Cut off some locks of his abundant hair.
The second blow now struck against the edge
Of Walter's shield, with such fierce vehemence
That it stuck fast, and ere that he could wrench
It from this prison-hold, Waltari's hand
Had dragg'd him from the saddle to the ground,
"Ha!" cried he, "thou shalt pay for my shorn locks,
With thine own pate!" and as he said the words,
Sir Randolf's head lay bleeding on the ground.
The ninth who now rode up in furious haste
Was Helmnod, bearing neither sword nor lance,
But on a long and twisted cord instead
A heavy trident set with many spikes.
And in the rear, his friends held the one end,
Of the strong rope, hoping, that when the spikes
Had taken hold of Walter's shield, to drag
Him to the ground with their united force.
"Take care of thy bald head!" Sir Helmnod cried,
"For death is coming towards thee from above!"
And as he spoke, he threw the curious arms
With practis'd hands,--nor did he miss the aim.
Right in the middle of Waltari's shield
It fix'd its iron claws, and a loud cry
Of joyous exultation fill'd the air,
As this success was noted by the rest
Who now, e'en aided by the king himself,
Pull'd hard with all their might,--yet 'twas in vain
For like some giant-oak he kept the ground
Until, wearied at last with such vain sport,
He suddenly let go his faithful shield.
So, trusting merely on his coat of mail
And his own sword, he madly rush'd along
And with one fearful blow, he split the head
And neck of Helmnod, through his cap of steel.
Before Sir Trogus yet could free himself
From the entangling rope that held him fast,
To fetch his arms which all had laid aside
Not to be cumber'd, as they pull'd the rope,
Waltari with one slash of his fierce sword
Had lam'd him on both legs, and ta'en his shield,
Before Sir Trogus could stretch out his hand
With which he now took up a mighty stone
And hurl'd it with such vigour through the air,
That it did break his own strong shield in twain.
Then, crawling onwards through the shelt'ring grass.
Sir Trogus stealthily regain'd his sword,
Which joyfully he rais'd above his head.
His hero's heart still long'd to die in fight
And so he cried aloud: "oh, that a friend
Were near to help me, or my trusty shield
Had not been robb'd! I tell thee, haughty knight,
Not thine own bravery, but want of chance
Has conquer'd me. Come on and take my sword!"
"Thy wish shall be fulfill'd!" Waltari cried,
And quick as lightning he flew down the path,
Cut off the hand that vainly rais'd the sword,
So that it fell, a useless member now
Unto the ground. But ere the final blow
Which was to end his soul's captivity,
He yet had dealt, Sir Tannast gallop'd down,
To help his friend in this dread hour of need.
Full angrily Waltari turnèd round,
And with a ghastly wound beneath his arm
Sir Tannast fell, bleeding beside his friend;
And murmuring, "farewell, beloved maid!"
He breath'd his last, and with a smile he died.
Full of despair, Sir Trogus rais'd his voice
To heap such bitter words and sharp insults
Upon Waltari's head, that he, inflam'd
With angry rage, to stop his sland'rous tongue
Now throttled him with his own chain of gold.
When all his knights had thus been slain, the king
In bitter sorrow fled unto the spot,
Where Hagen sat in gloomy solitude;
And shedding scalding tears of rage and grief,
He tried to touch his heart with subtle speech
And thus to rouse him from his apathy.
But cold as ice Sir Hagen made reply:
"Full well thou know'st, oh king, that the pale blood,
Which from my fathers I inherited
Whose craven hearts would shrink with coward fear
When they but heard of war, does hinder me
To fight with yonder man. 'Tis thy own speech
Which now does lame my arm. I cannot fight."
Again the king tried to appease his wrath
Humbling himself, by asking pardon now,
And promising that if he would but fight,
He would reward him amply, ending thus:
"Indeed, I never shall survive the day,
On which the burning shame will be reveal'd,
When in the streets and high-roads 'twill be said,
'One single man did kill a host of knights
And there was none who would avenge the deed!'"
Still Hagen hesitated, thinking how
Waltari once had been his bosom-friend,
His brother almost,--but when now at last
His king and master fell upon his knees,
And with uplifted hands besought his help,
Then the ice melted which had bound his heart
In chains of pride and hatred, and he felt,
That if he still refus'd, his honour would
For ever be defil'd, and so he spoke:
"Whate'er thou biddest me to do, my king,
It shall be done, and what no bribe on earth
Could have obtained, the faith I owe to thee,
Has now accomplish'd;--but before I try
My sword and strength against my quondam friend,
I fain would find some way to drive him from
His present stronghold, which does make his strength.
For, whilst he keeps that place, 'tis certain death
To come but near him. Ah, believe me king,
That never even to avenge the death
Of my fair nephew, would I raise my hand
Against my well-tried friend. Only for thee,
To save thee from the shame of this defeat,
I sacrifice my friendship. Let us hence,
So that, imagining that we were gone,
He too will ride away, suspecting naught;
And in the open field, quite unprepar'd,
We will attack him; and I warn thee that
The fight will not be easy, even so."
This cunning plan did please the king so well,
That he embrac'd Sir Hagen on the spot,
And then they went away to hide themselves,
Leaving their horses grazing in the woods.
The sun had disappear'd behind the hills
And now our hero, wearied from the fight,
Stood there, revolving in his inmost heart,
Whether 'twere best, to rest and pass the night--
In his good stronghold, or to hurry on,
And find his way out of this wilderness.
His soul misgave him when he saw the king
Kissing Sir Hagen, with exulting mien.
Yet, after he had thought of this and that,
He made resolve 'twere better to remain,
So that it were not said that he had fled,
Like some base criminal at fall of night.
So, cutting down from the surrounding trees
And thorny brambles many a branch and bough,
He made himself a strong and solid hedge,
To guard him 'gainst an unforeseen attack--
With deep-drawn sighs he then walk'd to the spot,
Where all the corpses lay, his hand had fell'd,
And putting back each head unto its trunk,
He threw himself down on his knees and prayed:
"Oh Lord of hosts, whom all the world obeys,
Without whose holy will, nothing is done,
I thank Thee, that to-day Thou wert with me
Helping me to defeat mine enemies,
Who thirsted all to drink my guiltless blood.
Oh Lord whose mighty word destroyeth sin,
Yet taketh pity on us sinners all,
I pray Thee now to show Thy mercy rare,
On these my hand has slain, so that their souls,
May enter all into Thy paradise,
And I may meet them there, when my day comes."
Thus Walter pray'd; then, rising from the ground,
He went to fetch the horses of the dead,
And tied them all together with a cord
Made of some willow branches, growing near.
Then, taking off his armour, he lay down
Upon his shield, to rest his weary limbs;
And speaking tender words unto Hildgund,
He bade her watch his slumbers as before,
For much he needed some refreshing sleep.
Thus all the night, the fair and faithful maid
Sat by his side, driving the sleep away,
That tried to steal upon her unawares,
By softly singing little bits of song.
Before the dawn of day Waltari rose
And telling her to sleep now in her turn
He paced the ground with calm and even steps,
His lance in hand, ready for an attack.
And thus the night wore on, and morning came;
A soft, refreshing mist fell down as dew
Hanging in pearly drops on grass and trees.
Then, from the corpses with all rev'rent care
Waltari took the armours, sword and all,
Leaving their costly dresses though, untouch'd.
Four of the chargers then were laden with
His rightful booty, whilst the other two
Were destin'd for himself and his fair bride.
Yet ere they started, mounting on a tree,
Waltari with his falcon-eyes survey'd
The scenery around, but seeing nought
Which might have rous'd suspicion, he resolv'd
To wait no more, and thus they now rode forth,
Hildgunde, with the booty-laden steeds
Riding ahead, whilst Walter clos'd the train.
Scarce were they gone when Hildgund looking back,
Beheld two stalwart knights approaching fast,
And paling with dismay, she cried aloud:
"Oh dear my Lord! The end is coming now
I pray thee fly, and save thy precious life!"
Turning his head, Waltari saw the foe
And said with tranquil mien: "no man shall say,
Waltari fled, whilst he could wield the sword!
Here, take the reins of King Attila's horse
And save the golden treasure. Yonder wood
Will give thee shelter, whilst I will accost
The strangers thus, as it becomes a knight."
The maiden tremblingly obey'd his words,
Whilst he prepar'd his trusty lance and shield.
Yet from a distance, Gunther called out:
"Now thou no more canst hide between the rocks,
Stand still and let us see, whether the end,
Will not reveal another countenance!
And whether fortune is thy hired maid!"
But with contemptuous mien, Waltari turn'd
His head away, as if he had not heard
And looking full in Hagen's face, he said:
"Oh Hagen, my old friend, what has occurr'd,
That as an enemy you come to me?
Hast thou forgot the tears which thou hast shed
When lying in my arms for the last time,--
That thus thou treatest me, thy faithful friend?
Indeed, I thought the day that we should meet,
Would be a joyous one for thee and me,
And that with open arms, and loving words
Thou wouldst accost me. Oh, how oft my heart
Would beat with restless longing, when I thought
Of thee, so far away, yet still my friend.
Hast thou forgotten then our boyish days,
When both did work and strive, for one great aim,
Then, when I look'd into thine eyes I felt
As if my parents and my home were near,
As if I were not quite forsaken yet.
And so I kept my love and faith for thee
And, therefore, pray thee to depart in peace
And as a friendly gift I'll fill thy shield
With gold and jewels even to the brim."
But with a sombre look and angry voice
Sir Hagen to this speech now made reply.
"Indeed, I think, that thou didst break the faith
When by thy cruel sword my nephew fell,
His life and not thy gold I claim from thee,
And will hear nought of friendship past and gone."
Thus speaking he alighted from his horse
As likewise did Waltari, and the king;
And so they stood prepar'd, two against one,
Sir Hagen was the first to break the peace
And with an able hand he threw the spear,
Which proudly pierc'd the air with hissing sound;
But without deigning e'en to turn aside,
Waltari stood extending his good shield,
From which the lance rebounded with such force
As if its point had struck against a wall of stone.
Then Gunther threw his spear with good intent
But with such feeble arm, that it fell down,
Scarce having touch'd the rim of Walter's shield.
Their lances being gone, both drew the sword,
And with it levell'd many a well-aim'd blow
Which all were parried by Waltari's lance.
At last an evil thought struck Gunther's mind,
And whilst Sir Hagen fiercely onward press'd
He stealthily bent down to seize his lance,
But just when he had seized the oaken shaft,
Waltari, throwing bold Sir Hagen back,
Did place his foot on the coveted spear.
Full of dismay, the king stood there aghast
Not moving hand or foot, so that his life
Was sore endanger'd, when Sir Hagen sprang
With deerlike swiftness forwards, shielding him,
So that recovering by slow degrees
He once again could join in the attack,
That wagèd fiercer now than e'er before;
Yet still Waltari stood like some strong rock,
Unmov'd and calm amidst the breakers roar.
But from his eyes shot forth such scathing looks,
And on his brow, in triple sisterhood,
Sat fury, hatred and the fierce desire
To die or gain the bloody victory.
At last, to Hagen he address'd these words:
"Oh hawthorn tree,[^[3]] I do not fear thy prick!
And let thy vaunted strength be, what it may,
I mean to wrestle with thee." At these words,
He hurl'd his lance with such unerring aim
That part of Hagen's armour was torn off.
Then turning suddenly to Gunther, he
With one astounding cut of his good sword,
Did sever the right leg from Gunther's frame.
Half dead, King Gunther fell upon his shield
But when Waltari just had rais'd his arm,
To deal the mortal blow, Sir Hagen saw
The peril of his king, and with one bound
He threw himself between, so that the sword
Fell on his helmet, with a clashing sound
And then was shiver'd into sev'ral bits.
With angry frown, Waltari threw the hilt
Contemptuously aside, for though of gold,
What could it now avail him? Then he rais'd
His iron-pointed lance with careless hand
But ere he yet had pois'd it, Hagen's sword
Cut off the hand, which to its enemies
Had been so fearful, and so far renown'd,--
And now lay helpless on the bloody ground.
Yet even then, Waltari's noble heart
Thought not of flight, but pressing back his pain,
His left hand grasp'd the Hunnic scimitar
Which still was left him in this hour of need,
And which aveng'd him, slashing Hagen's face
In such a fearful way, that his right eye
Besides six teeth he lost by this one blow.
Then both did drop their arms, and thus at last
The bloody fight was ended. Both had shown
Their strength and valour in an equal way,
And now did part with knightly courtesy.
Then, sitting side by side, they staunch'd their wounds
With flowers, until Walter's ringing voice
Had brought the fair Hildgund unto their side,
Who with her gentle hands then dress'd the wounds.
As soon as this was done, Waltari said:
"Now sweet my love, I prythee go and bring
For each a cup of wine, for verily
I think we have deserv'd it all to-day.
First give the cup to Hagen, my old friend,
Who, like a faithful vassal to his king,
Has fought full valiantly in his behalf;
Next give it me and then the king may drink,
Who least has done, and therefore shall be last."
The maiden doing as her lord had said,
Stepp'd up to Hagen, who, though plagued with thirst
Refus'd to drink, before Waltari's lips
Had been refreshèd by the cooling draught.
And when the pangs of thirst had thus been still'd
The two, who just before had been dread foes,
Now sat together, holding friendly talk,
And jesting gaily as in days gone by.
"In future thou, my friend," Sir Hagen said,
"Must wear a leathern glove, well stuff'd with wool,
On thy right arm, to make the world believe
Thou still hadst got both hands at thy commands,
And at thy right side thou must wear the sword;
But worse than all, when thou wilt clasp thy bride
With thy left arm thou must embrace her then,--
In fact all thou wilt do in future life
Must awkward be,--left-handed as they say."
Briskly Waltari to this jest replied:
"Oh, stop thy railing, poor and one-eyed man
For with my left hand here, I yet may kill
The boar and stag, which thou no more wilt eat;
And in my fancy I can see thee look,
On friends and foes and all the world awry!
But for the sake of our youthful days
And ancient friendship, I will counsel thee,
To bid thy nurse make porridge and milk-soups
When thou com'st home, such as befit thy state
Of toothless incapacity for other food."--
Thus they renew'd the friendship of their youth,
And after having rested, laid the king
Who suffer'd greatly, on his horse's back.
And then the two Franconians slowly rode
To Worms, from where the day before they came
In all the pride of their exulting hearts,
Meanwhile, Waltari and his gentle bride
Went on to Aquitania, Walter's home
Where they were both receiv'd with tears of joy
By his old father, who had long despair'd
Of holding in his arms his son again,
Who soon was wedded to fair Hildegund;
And when his father died, for thirty years
Waltari sway'd the sceptre, lov'd by all.

---

Oh, much beloved reader, if my song
Has been but roughly chanted, I implore
Thy kind forgiveness,--I did my best.
Praisèd be Jesus Christ!--So ends Waltari's song.

CHAPTER XXV.

[The last Echo, and End.]

----And he has sung bravely, our hermit Ekkehard; and his Waltari-song is a venerable monument of German spirit; the first great epic out of the circle of national heroic legends, which, in spite of the destroying rust of ages, was bequeathed undamaged to later generations.--To be sure, other notes have been struck in it than those which the Epigonic poets have hatched in their gilt-edged little books. The spirit of a great, heroic time breathes through it; wild and awful like the roaring of the tempest in mighty oak-trees. There is a sounding and clinking of swords dashing and splitting of helmets; whilst but little is heard of gallant speeches and tender wooing, or would-be eloquent dissertations on God and the universe, and Heaven knows what! All that is shown to us there, is a Titanic fight and Titanic jests; old knighthood in all its simple sternness; true, honest, silent love, and genuine open-faced hatred;--these were the materials for Ekkehard's epic; and therefore his work has become grand and mighty, and stands at the portal of German poetry, tall and strong, like one of those iron-clad giants, which the plastic art of later days, loved to place as gate-keepers before the entrance of its palaces.

He, who by the roughness of ancient, often almost heathenish views, may be affected as by the rude blast on a sea-coast, which is apt to produce a cold in the dress-coat-wearing individual,--will be pleased to consider, that the epic has been sung by one who had himself fought with the Huns; and that he composed it many hundred feet over the valley-regions, whilst his curls were being ruffled by the wind which had swept over the glaciers on the Säntis; that his mantle was a wolf's skin, and that a she-bear was his first auditor.

'Tis a pity that the sportive sprites and goblins have ceased this many-a-day to practise their merry art; otherwise it might not be amiss for many a writer of the present day, if, by invisible hands, he were suddenly carried away from his mahogany table, to the green meadow of the Ebenalp; up to those heights where the "old man" in all his mountain-grandeur, looks into the poet's manuscript; where the thunder, with its manifold echoes, rolls through the ravines and glens; and where the golden-vulture, in proud, lonely circles, rises up to the rainbow. There, a man must either compose something grand, pithy and of large dimensions, or he must penitently fall on his knees, like the prodigal son, and confess before those magnificent scenes of nature, that he has sinned.--