Prays the second, "Fairy, give
Me for her I love to live."
And the merry water flows
Bearing him a crimson rose.
Saith the third, "Of death or life
I myself can wage the strife—
Only let my love endure,
Given once, unchanged and pure."
Then the fountain sinks to calm,
On its bosom lies a palm.
In the forest, sore dismayed,
Cries for help the lovely maid;
Clutch of brigand fierce and rude
Holds her in that solitude;
Brigand hands seize gems and gold,
Brigand tongues with speeches bold
Offer her, since none can save,
Queenship of their robber-cave.
On the leaves the sunbeams glitter,
'Mid the boughs the wild birds twitter,
In the grass the foxgloves rise—
Is there none to heed her cries?
See the branches dashed apart!
Turns the chief with sudden start,
Feels a sword-thrust in his heart;
And another caitiff's groan
Speaks his coward spirit flown,
While, too swift for dying word,
Dagger-smitten, writhes a third.
Yet before the maid is freed
Victim for her life must bleed;
For the chief with parting breath
Gives one succourer to death;
And his comrades bending low
Over him their mantles throw,
While the maiden's tears betoken
Grief for gratitude unspoken.
Soon for him the death-bell pealeth—
She beside her champion kneeleth—
All in sable vesture dight
Scatters o'er him roses white.
One whose aid her thanks must own
Asks not gratitude alone:
Whispered words have soothed her fears,
Loving hand shall dry her tears;
Spring with all its visions tender
Shall to summer-joys surrender,
Hope who erst would dream apart
Yield to love the virgin heart,
Grateful tears no more be paid
Where the milky roses fade,
But the thoughts she cannot speak
Shall unbidden dye her cheek,
When their emblem she bestows,
Gives her knight the crimson rose.
Yet another champion stood
By the maiden in the wood,
Slew the foe, but, wounded sore
Saw her for awhile no more.
When he met her glance again
Was it joy or was it pain?
Joy her yielded hand to press,
Joy to hear her voice confess
He had helped her in distress,
Joy to see her eye bedewed
With a friend's solicitude,
Pain which would not be denied
For she was another's bride!
"Can I bear? He is fond
But unworthy of her—
The pleasures beyond
Can his light spirit stir;
Gay song, foolish story
Can lead him astray,
Vain glamour of glory
Entice him away.