"Sweet Heins, how died'st so young,
Ere yet thou wert a man?
What boots it that I'm strong,
And thou so still and wan?
Yet thou hast saved thy prince
From his dread foeman's scorn!
Thou art his—accept him, since
He never will return!"
Bold Burgundy then mourn'd
To see a father's grief;
His heart within him burn'd,
But could not bring relief.
He mingles tears with tears;
He clasps him to his breast;
The hero he reveres,
And speaks his deep distress:—
"Most faithful hast thou been,
When fail'd me all beside;
Henceforth we will be seen
Like brothers, side by side.
Throughout all Burgundy,
Be lord of me and mine;
And could more honour be,
I'd freely make it thine."
He journey'd through the land,
Each liege-man hail'd him home;
To each he gave command,
True Eckart to welcome.
It was the voice of an old mountaineer that sung this song, resounding far among the rocks, where the faithful Eckart was sitting upon a declivity, weeping aloud. His youngest boy stood near his father, and said, "Why do you cry so bitterly, my dear father? Why are you so much better and stronger than other men, if you are afraid—can you be afraid of them?"
Meanwhile the duke, at the head of a hunting-party, was leisurely proceeding homewards; Burgundy himself was mounted upon a stately, richly caparisoned steed. His princely gold and silver trappings sparkled in the evening sun; insomuch that the young Conrad could not sufficiently admire the fine procession as it passed. Faithful Eckart raised his eyes, and looked darkly and sorrowfully towards the place; while his tender Conrad began to sing, as he lost sight of the princely cavalcade in the distance:—