Again he grasped his sword;
He said he must prove true:
Eckart has spoke the word,
And rushed amid the crew.
He saved the princes dear;
They fled and reach'd the plain;
But see, the fiend is near—
His imps their malice strain.
Though Eckart's strength is gone,
He sees the children safe;
And cried, "I fight alone—
Now let their malice chafe!"
He fought—he fell—he died
Upon that well-fought field;
His old heroic pride
Both scorn'd to fly or yield.
"True to the sire and son,
The bulwark of their throne,
Proud feats hath Eckart done;
There's not a knight, not one,
Of all my court and land,"
Cried the young duke full loud,
"Would make so bold a stand.
Our honour to uphold.
For life, and land, and all,
To Eckart true we owe;
He snatch'd our souls from thrall,
For all it work'd him woe."
And soon the story ran
Through Burgundy's broad land,
That who so venture can
To take his dangerous stand
Upon that mountain-side,
Where in that contest hard
True Eckart fought and died,
Shall see his shade keep guard,
To warn the wanderers back
Who seek th' infernal pit,
And spurn them from the track
That leads them down to it.