She so besought, so urged him, till
Her wily wit had worked her will.
With night approaching, home there came
The grandson of that ancient dame;
And when he drew the hearth anear,
Back started he with sudden fear;
For there Bard Merlin sat at rest,
His head low bowed upon his breast:
Yes, there forsooth sate Merlin gray;
And he?—how should he flee away?
“Hush, grandson mine! fear naught; in deeps
Of slumber most profound he sleeps.
Eaten has he red apples three,
On the hot ashes cooked by me.
Whither we list we now may fare,
And he will follow everywhere.”
VIII.
In early morning, ere the queen
Had risen from her bed,
Her waiting-lady to her side
She called, to whom she said:
“What in the city has befall’n?
And what the noise, I pray,
That shakes the columns of my bed,
Ere yet ‘tis dawn of day?
“And what has happened in the court?
And wherefore do the crowd
With eager tumult thus press on
With joyous shouts and loud?”