Our tale is drawing to its close.
Perhaps some of our readers would be pleased to hear, that Ekkehard, after having completed his song, died a peaceful death. It would verily have been a most touching conclusion, "how he had reclined before his cavern, with eyes strained towards the Bodensee; his harp leaning against the rock; the parchment-roll in his hands,--and how his heart had broken!"--Further, one might have added some fine simile;--how the poet was consumed by the burning flames of his genius; like the torch which is burnt to ashes while it gives its light;--but this touching spectacle, I am sorry to say, Ekkehard did not afford to posterity.
Genuine poetry makes a man fresh and healthy. So Ekkehard's cheeks had assumed a brighter colour during his work, and he often experienced a feeling of well-being which made him stretch out his arm, as if he were about to strike down a wolf or bear, with one blow of his fist.
But when his Waltari had bravely conquered all dangers and deathly wounds,--then, he gave a shout of delight which made the stalactite walls of his cavern, reecho. The goats in their stable, received a double quantity of herbs that day, and to the goat-boy he gave some silver coins to induce him to descend to Sennwald in the Rhine-valley, there to procure a jug of red wine.
It was in those days just as it is now, "libro completo, saltat scriptor pede laeto;" when the book is finished, the writer jumps with joy.
Therefore on that evening he sat on the Ebenalp in the cottage of the old herdsman and they did not spare the jug; and lastly Ekkehard seized the huge Alpine-horn, and mounting a rock, blew a mighty strain in the direction of the hazy distant Hegau-mountains; and the notes swelled out loud and triumphantly, as if they wanted to reach the Duchess's ears, so as to make her step out on her balcony, followed by Praxedis, whom he then would have liked to greet with a laugh.
"If I were to come once more into the world," he said to his friend the master of the Ebenalp, "and were to drop down from the sky just where I pleased, I verily believe that I would choose no other spot than the Wildkirchlein."
"You are not the first man who has been pleased with our residence," laughed the old man. "When brother Gottshalk was still living, five Italian monks once came up to pay him a visit, and they brought some better wine than this with them; and they jumped and danced, so as to make their habits fly. 'Twas only when they went downhill again that they composed their faces into the necessary serious expression, and one of them, before leaving, made a long speech to our goats. 'Don't blab, ye dear goats,' he said, 'for the Abbot of Novalese need not know anything of our spirits' raptures.'"
"But now, mountain-brother, I wish you to tell me one thing, and that is what you have been doing all these last days, cowering in your cavern? I have well observed, that you have drawn many hooks and runes on your asses skin, and I trust that you are not concocting some evil charm, against our flocks or mountains? Else"----a threatening look finished the sentence.
"I have merely been writing a song," said Ekkehard.