CHAPTER XXIV.

"And he who digs for snow-drops,And whom fortune will befriend,Will by chance dig a bear out,And perhaps two, in the end."

The snow had been a mere soft sleet, which soon melted again. Summer came back once more to the mountains with heart-stirring warmth, and a peaceful Sabbath-quiet lay over the highlands. Ekkehard had regaled himself with the bear's paws at dinner in company with the herdsman and his daughter. It was a savoury dish, coarse, but strengthening, and well suited for inhabitants of the mountains. Then he mounted the top of the Ebenalp, and threw himself into the fragrant grass, from whence he looked up at the blue sky, enjoying his recovered health.

Benedicta's goats were grazing around him, and he could hear how the juicy Alpine-grass was greedily munched between their sharp teeth. Restless clouds drifted along the hillsides; and on a piece of white lime-stone, with her face towards the Säntis, sat Benedicta. She was playing on a queer sort of a flute. It was a simple and melodious air; like a voice from the days of youth. With two wooden milk-spoons in her left hand she beat time. She was a proficient in this art, and her father would often say with regret: "Tis really a pity! She deserved to be called Benedictus, as she would have made a capital herdsman."

When the rythmical air came to an end, she gave a loud shout in the direction of the neighbouring alp, upon which the soft tones of an Alpine horn were heard. Her sweetheart, the herdsman on the Klus stood under the dwarf fir-tree, blowing theranz des vaches,--that strange, primitive music, which unlike any other melody, seems at first a mere humming sound, which an imprisoned bumble-bee, searching for an outlet, might produce, and that by-and-by, rises and swells into that wondrous song of longing, love, and home-sickness, creeping into the very heart's core; filling it either with rapturous joy, or making it almost break with sorrow.

"I trow that you are quite well again, mountain-brother," cried Benedicta to Ekkehard, "as you are lying so contentedly on your back. Did you like the music?"

"Yes," said Ekkehard, "go on!"

He could scarcely gaze his fill, on all the beauty around him. To the left, in silent grandeur, stood the Säntis, with his kindred. Ekkehard, already knew them by their different names, and greeted them as his dear neighbours. Before him, a confused mass of smaller hills and mountains, green luxuriant meadow-lands, and dark pine-woods lay extended. A part of the Rhinevalley, bordered by the heights of the Arl-mountains and the distant Rhætian Alps, looked up at him. A vapoury stripe of mist indicated the mirror of the Bodensee, which it covered; and all that he saw was wide and grand and beautiful.

He, who has felt the mysterious influence which reigns on airy mountain-peaks, widening and ennobling the human heart, raising it heavenwards, in loftier thoughts, he, is filled with a sort of smiling pity, when he thinks of those, who, in the depth below, are dragging tiles and sand together, for the building of new towers of Babel; and he will unite in that joyous mountain-cry, which according to the old herdsman, is equal to a paternoster before the Lord.

The sun was standing over the Kronberg, inclining towards the west, and deluging the heavens with a flood of golden light. He likewise sent his rays into the mists over the Bodensee, so that the white veil slowly dissolved, and in soft, delicate blue tints, the Untersee became visible. Ekkehard strained his eyes, and beheld a filmy dark spot, which was the island of Reichenau, and a mountain which scarcely rose above the horizon, but he knew it well,--it was the Hohentwiel.

Theranz des vachesaccompanied the tinkling of the cow-bells, and over the prospect was a continually increasing warmth of colour. The meadows were steeped in a golden-brown green, and even the grey lime-stone walls of the Kamor, were dyed with a faint roseate hue. Then, Ekkehard's soul also glowed and brightened. His thoughts flew away, over into the Hegau, and he fancied himself once more sitting with Dame Hadwig on the Hohenstoffeln, when they celebrated Cappan's wedding, and saw Audifax and Hadumoth, who appeared to him the very embodiment of earthly happiness, coming home from the Huns. There arose also from the dust and rubbish of the past, what the eloquent Conrad of Alzey, had once told him of Waltari and Hiltgunde. The joyous spirit of poetry entered his mind. He rose and jumped up into the air, in a way, which must have pleased the Säntis. In the imagery of poetry, the poor heart could rejoice over that, which life could never give it;--the glory of knighthood, and the felicity of wedded love.

"I will sing the song of Waltari of Aquitania!" cried he to the setting sun, and it was as if he saw his friend Conrad of Alzey, standing between the Sigelsalp and Maarwiese, in robes of light, and nodding a smiling approval to this plan.

So, Ekkehard cheerfully set to work. "What is done here, must either be well done, or not at all, else the mountains will laugh at us," the herdsman had once said, to which remark, he had then nodded a hearty assent. The goat-boy was sent into the valley to fetch some eggs and honey; so, Ekkehard begged his master to give him a holiday, and entrusted him with a letter to his nephew. He wrote it in a cipher, well known at the monastery, so that no other persons could read it. The contents of the letter were as follows:

"All hail and blessings to the cloister-pupil Burkhard!"

"Thou, who hast been an eye-witness of thy uncle's sorrow, wilt know how to be silent. Do not try to find out where he is now, but remember that God is everywhere. Thou hast read in Procopius how Gelimer, the king of the Vandals, when he was a prisoner in the Numidian hills, and when his misery was great, entreated his enemies to give him a harp, so that he might give voice to his grief. Thy mother's brother now begs thee, to give to the bearer of this, one of your small harps, as well as some sheets of parchment, colours and pens, for my heart in its loneliness, also feels inclined to sing a song. Burn this letter. God's blessing be with thee! Farewell!"

"Thou must be wary and cautious, as if thou wert going to take the young ones out of an eagle's nest," Ekkehard said to the goat-boy. "Ask for the cloister-pupil, who was with Romeias the watchman, when the Huns came. To him thou art to give the letter. Nobody else need know about it."

The goat-boy, putting his forefinger to his lips, replied with a knowing look: "With us no tales are repeated. The mountain-air teaches one to keep a secret."

Two days afterwards he returned from his expedition, and unpacked the contents of his wicker-basket before Ekkehard's cavern. A small harp, with ten strings, three-cornered so as to imitate a Greek delta; colours and writing material, and a quantity of clean, soft parchment-leaves with ruled lines, lay all carefully hidden under a mass of green oak-leaves.

The goat-boy however looked sullen and gloomy.

"Thou hast done thy business well," said Ekkehard.

"Another time, I won't go down there," grumbled the boy, clenching his fist.

"Why not?"

"Because there is no room for such as I. In the hall, I enquired for the pupil, and gave him the letter. After that, I felt rather curious to see what nice young saints those might be, who went to school there, with their monks' habits. So I went to the garden where the young gentlemen were playing with dice, and drinking, as it was a recreation day. I looked on, at their throwing stones at a mark, and playing a game with sticks, and I could not help laughing, because it was all so weak and miserable. And when they asked me, what I was laughing at, I took up a stone, and threw it twenty paces further than the best of them, and cried out: what a set of green-beaks you are! Upon this, they tried to get at me with their sticks; but I seized the one next to me, and sent him flying through the air, so that he dropped into the grass like a lamed mountain-rook; and then they all cried out that I was a coarse mountain-lout, and that their strength lay in science and intellect. Then I wanted to know what intellect was, and they said: drink some wine, and afterwards we will write it on thy back! And the cloister-wine being good, I drank a few jugs full, and they wrote something on my back. I do not remember how it was all done, for the next morning I had a very bad headache, and did not know any more about their intellect, than I had done before."

Throwing back his coarse linen shirt, he showed his back to Ekkehard, on which with black cart-grease, in large capital letters the following inscription was written.

"Abbatiscellani, homines pagani,Vani et insani, turgidi villani."

It was a monastic joke. Ekkehard could not restrain a laugh. "Don't mind it," said he, "and remember that it is thy own fault as thou hast sat too long over thy wine."

The goat-boy, however, was not to be appeased so easily.

"My black goats are far dearer to me, than all those younkers together," said he, buttoning his shirt again. "But if ever I catch such a milksop on the Ebenalp, I will write something on his back with unburnt ashes, that he will not forget as long as he lives; and if he is not satisfied with that, he may fly down the precipice, like an avalanche in spring."

Still grumbling, the boy went away.

Ekkehard then took up the harp, and sitting down at the foot of the crucifix before his cavern, he played a joyous air. It was a long time since he had last touched the chords, and it was an unspeakable delight for him, in that vast solitude, to give vent in low tuneful melodies, to the thoughts and feelings, that were oppressing his heart. And the fair ladyMusicawasPoetry'spowerful ally; and the epic song of Waltari, which at first had approached him only in misty outlines, condensed itself into clearly defined figures; which again grouped themselves into warm, life-glowing pictures. Ekkehard closed his eyes to see them still better, and then he beheld the Huns approaching; a race of nimble, merry horsemen, with less repulsive faces than those against whom he had himself fought but a few months ago; and they carried off the royal offspring from Franconia and Aquitania, as hostages; Waltari and the fair Hiltgunde, the joy of Burgundy. And as he struck the chords with greater force, he also beheld King Attila himself, who was of tolerable mien, and well inclined to gaiety and the joys of the cup. And the royal children grew up at the Hunnic court, and when they were grown up, a feeling of home-sickness came over them, and they remembered how they had been betrothed to each other, from the days of their childhood.

Then, there arose a sounding and tuning of instruments, for the Huns were holding a great banquet; King Attila quaffed the mighty drinking-cup, and the others followed his example until they all slept the heavy sleep of drunkenness. Now he saw how the youthful hero of Aquitania, saddled his warhorse in a moon-lit night, and Hildegunde came and brought the Hunnic treasure. Then he lifted her up into the saddle, and away they rode out of Hunnic thraldom.

In the background, in fainter outlines, there still floated pictures of danger, and flight, and dreadful battles with the grasping King Gunther.

In large bold outlines, the whole story which he intended to glorify in a simple, heroic poem, stood out before his inward eye.

That very same night, Ekkehard remained sitting up with his chip-candle, and began his work; and a sensation of intense pleasure, came over him, when the figures sprang into life, under his hand. It was a great and honest joy; for in the exercise of the poetic art, mortal man elevates himself to the deed of the Creator, who caused a world to spring forth out of nothing. The next day found him eagerly busying himself with the first adventures. He could scarcely account for the laws by which he regulated and interwove the threads of his poem, and in truth it is not always necessary to know the why and the wherefore of everything. "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit," says St. John.

And if now and then a feeling of doubt and distrust of his own faculties came over him,--for he was timidly organised, and sometimes thought that it was scarcely possible to attain anything without the help of books, and learned models,--then, he would walk up and down the narrow path before his cavern, and riveting his looks on the gigantic walls of his mountains, he derived comfort and serenity from them; and finally said to himself, "In all that I write and conceive, I will merely ask the Säntis and the Kamor, whether they are satisfied." And with these thoughts, he was on a good track; for the poetry of him, who receives his inspiration from old mother nature, will be genuine and truthful, although the linen-weavers, stonecutters, or the whole of that most respectable brotherhood of straw-splitters, in the depth below, may ten thousand times declare it to be, a mere fantastical chimera.

Some days were thus spent, in industrious work. In the Latin verse of Virgil, the figures of his legend were clothed, as the paths of the German mother-tongue struck him as being still too rough and uneven, for the fair measured pace of his epic. Thus his solitude became daily more peopled. At first, he thought he would continue his work night and day, without any interruption; but the physical part of our nature will claim its rights. Therefore he said: "He who works, must attune his daily labour to the course of the sun;" and when the shadows of evening fell on the neighbouring heights, he made a pause; seized his harp and with it ascended the Ebenalp. The spot, where the first idea of writing the epic had entered his mind, had become very dear to him.

Benedicta welcomed him joyfully, when he came for the first time with his harp.

"I understand you, mountain-brother," said she. "Because you are not allowed to have a sweetheart, you have taken to a harp to which you tell everything that's going on in your heart. But it shall not be in vain that you have become a musician."

Raising her hand to her mouth, she uttered a clear, melodious whistle, towards the low-thatched cottage on the Klusalp, which soon brought over the herdsman her sweetheart, with his Alpine horn. He was a strong and fine looking lad. In his right ear he wore a heavy silver ring, representing a serpent, suspended from which, on a tiny silver chain, hung the slender milkspoon, the herdsman's badge of honour. His waist was encircled by the broad belt; in front of which some monstrous animal, faintly resembling a cow, was to be seen. With shy curiosity depicted in his healthy face, he stood before Ekkehard; but Benedicta said:

"Please to strike up a dance now; for often enough we have regretted that we could not do it ourselves; but, when he blows his horn he cannot whirl me round at the same time, and when I play on the flute, I cannot spare an arm."

Ekkehard willingly struck up the desired tune, being much pleased at the innocent merriment of these children of the mountains; and so they danced on the soft Alpine grass, until the moon rose in golden beauty over the Maarwiese. Greeting her with many a shout of delight, they still continued their dance; singing at the same time, alternately some simple little couplets ...

"And the glaciers grew upwardsUntil nigh to the top,What a pity for the maidenIf they'd frozen her up!"

sang Benedicta's lover, gaily whirling her round;

"And the storm blew so fiercely,And it blew night and day,What a pity for the cow-herdIf it had blown him away!"

she replied in the same measure.

When at last, tired with dancing, they rested themselves beside the young poet, Benedicta said: "Some day you will also get your reward, you dear, kind music-maker! There is an old legend belonging to these mountains, that once in every hundred years, a wondrous blue flower blooms on the rocky slopes, and to him, who has got the flower, the mountains open, and he can go in and take as much of the treasures of the deep, as his heart desires; and fill his hat to the brim with glittering jewels. If ever I find the flower, I will bring it to you, and you'll become a very, very rich man;" for, added she, clasping the neck of her lover with both arms,--"I should not know what to do with it, as I have found my treasure already."

But Ekkehard replied, "neither should I know what to do with it!"

He was right. He, who has been initiated in art, has found the genuine blue flower. Where others see nothing but a mass of rocks and stones, the vast realm of the beautiful opens to him; and there he finds treasures which are not eaten up by rust, and he is richer than all the money-changers and dealers, and purse-proud men of the world, although in his pocket, the penny may sometimes hold a sad wedding-feast with the farthing.

"But what then are we to do with the blue flower?" asked Benedicta.

"Give it to the goats or to the big bull-calf," said her lover laughingly. "They also deserve a treat now and then."

And again they whirled each other around in their national dances, until Benedicta's father came up to them. The latter had nailed the bear's skull which had since been bleached by the sun, over the door of his cottage, after the day's labours were done. He had stuck a piece of stalactite between the jaws, so that the goats and cows timidly ran away, scared by the new ornament.

"You make noise and uproar enough to make the Säntis tremble and quake," cried the old master of the Alps. "What on earth are you doing up there?" Thus, good-naturedly scolding, he made them go into the cottage.

The Waltari-song meanwhile, proceeded steadily; for when the heart is brimful of ideas and sounds, the hand must hurry, to keep pace with the flight of thought.

One midday, Ekkehard had just begun taking his usual walk on the narrow path before his cavern, when a strange visitor met his view. It was the she-bear, which he had dug out of the snow. Slowly she climbed up the steep ascent, carrying something in her snout. He ran back to his cave to fetch his spear, but the bear did not come as an enemy. Pausing respectfully at the entrance of his domicile, she dropped a fat marmot, which she had caught basking in the sunny grass, on a projecting stone. Was it meant as a present to thank him for having saved her life, or was it instigated by other feelings, who knows?--To be sure, Ekkehard had helped to consume the mortal remains of her spouse;--could some of the widow's affection thus be transferred to him?--we know too little about the law of affinities to decide this question.

The bear now sat down timidly before the cavern, stedfastly gazing in. Then, Ekkehard was touched, and pushed a wooden plate with some honey towards her, though still keeping his spear in his hand. But she only shook her head mournfully. The look out of her small, lidless eyes was melancholy and beseeching. Ekkehard then took down his harp from the wall, and began to play the strain, which Benedicta had asked for. This evidently had a soothing effect on the deserted bear-widow's mind; for raising herself on her hind-legs, she walked up and down, with rhythmical grace; but when Ekkehard played faster and wilder, she bashfully cast down her eyes, as her thirty-years-old bear's conscience did not sanction her dancing. Then, she stretched herself out again before the cavern, as if she wanted to deserve the praise, which the author of the hymn in praise of St. Gallus, bestowed on the bears, when he called them, "animals possessing an admirable degree of modesty."

"We two suit each other well," said Ekkehard. "Thou hast lost what thou hast loved best, in the snow, and I, in the tempest,--I will play something more for thee."

He now chose a melancholy air which seemed to please her well, as she gave an approving growl now and then. But Ekkehard, ever inwardly busy with his epic, at last said: "I have thought for a long while, what name I should give to the Hunnic queen, under whose care the young Hildgund was placed; and now I have found one. Her name shall beOspirin, the godlike bearess. Dost thou understand me?"

The bear looked at him, as if it were all the same to her; so Ekkehard drew forth his manuscript, and added the name. The wish to make known the creation of his mind to some living being, had for a long while been strong within him. Here, in the vast solitude of the mountains, he thought that the bear might take the place which under other circumstances would have required some learned scholar. So he stepped into his blockhouse, and leaning on his spear, he read out the beginning of his poem; he read with a loud, enthusiastic voice, and the bear listened with laudable perseverance.

So he read further and further; how the knights of Worms, who persecuted Waltari, entered the Wasgau-forest, and fought with him,--and still she listened patiently; but when at last the single combat went on without end,--when Ekkefried of Saxony fell down into the grass a slain man, beside the bodies of his predecessors, and Hadwart and Patavid, the nephews of Hagen, likewise shared the lot of their companions,--then, the bear raised herself slowly, as if even she had grown tired of so much bloodshed; and with stately steps strode down the valley.

In a solitary rocky crag on the Sigelsalp opposite, was her domicile. Thitherwards she directed her steps, to prepare for the coming long sleep of winter.

The epic, however, which of all living beings, was first heard by the she-bear of the Sigelsalp, the writer of this book, has rendered into German verse, during the long winter-evenings; and though many a worthy translator had undertaken this task before him, he yet did not like to withhold it from the reader, in order that he may see, that in the tenth century, as well as in later ages, the spirit of poetry had set up her abode in the minds of chosen men.

When Attila was king amongst the Huns,--Whose fame had sounded over lands and seas,Whose valiant hordes, had conquer'd many kings,Destroying all who ventured to resist,And granting peace to those who bent their necksLow in the dust, before his mighty sword,And paying heavy ransom thus were spar'd,--One day the bugle sounded far and wideAnnouncing that another war was near,Calling the men to arms, and then to horseTo go where'er their leader should decree.And Attila, when all had been prepar'd,Spoke thus unto his men, who breathless stoodTo hear, what their great king would have to say."Wearied of this long peace, I have resolv'd,That though unask'd, and like enough to be,Unwelcome too, we yet will tarry not,But pay a visit to the town of WormsFranconia's proud and noble capital."Scarce had he ended, when a roaring shout,Broke on the silence like a cataract,Loud rose and wild their joyous, swelling cry,"Long live the king! long live King Attila."Gay were the festivals then held at WormsWhere Gibich sat in his ancestral halls,To celebrate the birth of his first son,The heir which Heaven had denied him long.But suddenly a pallor, icy coldSpread o'er his features, turning them to stone,As if Medusa's head he had beheld;For in that evil moment he had heard,That from the Danube came a dreadful hostOf enemies, who soon would flood his land,In numbers countless as the stars of heaven,And swifter than the scorching desert-winds.In frighten'd haste a council then was held,In which the wisest men the land possess'd,Were to decide what it were best to do.And in this danger, one and all agreed,That, as resistance were mere idle boast,'Twere better not to irritate their foesBut offer tribute, and give hostages;And rather give the something, which they ask'd,Than lose their all,--land, fortunes, with their lives.But as King Gibich's son, Gunther by name,Was but a suckling yet, as hostage heCould not be sent,--Sir Hagen in his place,Gibich's own cousin was selected then,A young and stalwart knight, whose pedigreeProv'd his descent from noble, Trojan blood.So, he was sent, with ample bags of goldTo make the peace with Attila the Hun.In those same days, there reign'd in Burgundy,King Herrich with a strong and mighty hand;Whose only child, the gentle Hildegund,Was fairer far, and lovelier to behold,Than any other maid in all the landWhose future queen, she one day was to be.But when Franconia had obtain'd the peace,The Huns with all their concentrated force,Approach'd the frontiers now of Burgundy;And at their head tow'ring above the rest,There rode the king, the dreaded Attila.Behind him, pressing forward eagerly,A body-guard of noble Hunnic chiefs.The earth reechoed with their horses' tramp,The clashing of their swords frighten'd the air,And in the fields, an iron wood of spears,Shone out with reddish light, like dewy meads,On which the sun is casting his first rays.And thus they scal'd the mountains, cross'd the streams,For nothing could impede their reckless speed.Already they had pass'd the river Rhone,And now came pouring in, a surging seaOf men and riders, fearful to behold.At Chalons sat King Herrich, fearing nought,When from the belfry rose the watchman's cry;"I see a cloud of dust, foreboding ill,--Our enemies have come, and so beware,And shut your houses ere it be too late."The tale, of how Franconia had escap'dBy paying tribute, had reach'd Herrich's ear,Who now address'd his vassals in this way:"Well do we know that brave and valiant men,Franconia holds;--and yet they did not dare,Resist the Huns, but made a treaty withKing Attila, and so I do not see,Why we, like fools, should risk to lose our lives.One cherish'd daughter do I but possess--Yet for my country's weal I'll offer herAs hostage to the Huns, to guard the peace."Bare-headed and unarmed, his messengersThen went to meet the Huns, and sans delay,Into the presence of King AttilaThey soon were brought, who did receive them wellAs was his wont,--to dissipate their fears,And then with gracious mien address'd them thus:"Indeed, believe me, I myself preferA friendly treaty far, to bloody war;I am a man of peace, and only fightAgainst the wanton fools, who dare to doubtThe power which I hold from Heaven's self:Therefore, your Master's offer I accept."This message then was brought unto the king,Who now went out himself, accompaniedBy a long train of heavy laden menBearing the gold and jewel's manifoldWhich as a tribute to the Huns he paid.And by the hand, fair as the morning starHe led his only daughter, Hildegund.The peace was sign'd,--farewell sweet HildegundThe pearl of Burgundy, its hope and joy.Full of content at this new treaty made,King Attila now led his warriors braveOn to the west, to AquitaniaWhere Alpher sway'd the sceptre, strong and brave.An only son, Waltari was his prideWho yet a boy, promis'd one day to beAll that a father's heart could wish to see.Herrich and Alpher, old and faithful friends,With many a solemn oath on either side,Had long decreed, that when the time should come,Their children's hands in wedlock should be join'd.Sadly King Alpher brooded in his halls,On that which it behov'd him now to do."Alack!" he cried, "that in my hoary daysI cannot find my death, by lance or sword;But now that Burgundy has deign'd to craveA shameful peace, such as Franconia's kingFirst did conclude,--what now is left to me,But do the same?--dispatch my messengersAnd offer bribes of gold,--and worse than all,My only son as hostage to the foe!"Thus spoke King Alpher, and so was it done.Laden with gold, the Huns returned home,With Hagen, Hildegund and Alpher's son,They gladly greeted their Pannonian home,And here our captives led no evil life,For Attila was not a cruel manBy nature;--so he had them treated well,Almost as if they'd been his flesh and blood.The maiden Hildgund, to his wife the queen,Ospirin was her name, entrusted was,Whilst the two princes, he himself took careTo see well-taught in all the warlike artsNeglecting nothing, fitted for their rank.And so they grew in years and wisdom too,Outstripping all in strength, and witty speech,For which the king did love them both alikeAnd placed them high above the noble Huns.The German maiden too, soon won the heartOf Ospirin, the proud and haughty queen.The soft and winning ways of fair Hildgund,Did gain her confidence, until at last,She made her keeper of the treasure-room.Next to the queen she was in honour held;Her slightest wish, scarce uttered was obey'd.Meanwhile King Gibich fell a prey to death,So that his throne was now by Gunther held,Who broke the treaty made with Attila,And offer'd scoff and taunts instead of gold,Unto the messengers that he had sent.As soon as Hagen heard this welcome news,He fled by night, and safely reach'd the courtOf Gunther, who receiv'd him full of joy.Great was the sorrow in the morning, whenKing Attila first heard of Hagen's flight;And with a cunning mien the queen spoke thus:"Oh Lord and spouse, I warn thee to beware,Lest Walter too, thy pillar of supportTry to escape, like to his faithless friend.Therefore I pray thee, follow my advice,And to Waltari say with friendly speech:In many battles thou hast prov'd thy arm,Strong and untiring in thy master's cause.Therefore, I fain would give thee now some sign,Of my approving love and gratitude.Of all the noble Hunnic maidens here,I bid thee choose the best to be thy wifeAnd what of goods and lands thou wilt demand,It shall be granted, ere you say the word."These words well pleas'd the king, and show'd him howA woman's cunning often hits the mark,Which has escap'd the prudent eye of man.And so he bade Waltari come to himAnd told him all the queen had said before.But though his words he temptingly set forthWaltari guessing all that lay beneath,And having long before form'd other plans,With subtle speech, his fears tried to dispel."Oh prince, all I have done is quickly told,And scarce deserves the kindly praise you deignTo lavish on my poor, though faithful deeds.But if I were to follow your command,And take a wife, my time would be engross'd,By other cares and duties manifold;Which all would serve to make me turn away,And leave the path of honour by your side.For when you love a wife, you dislike war,Which is to tear you from her loving arms.And so, my gracious lord I do beseech,Not thus to banish me from his dear side.And never, when you order me to fightBy night or day, my sword you'll idle find;And in the midst of battle ne'er my eyesShall be found looking backwards, towards the spotWhere wife and children I did leave behind,--A thought to lame my arm and dim my eye.Therefore, by your own valour and my own,I beg you not to force this yoke on me."Then Attila was touch'd, and in his soulHe thought, "Waltari never thinks of flight!"Meanwhile rebellion dared to raise her headIn distant lands, amongst another tribe,Against whose province war was now proclaim'd,And young Waltari then was named chiefOf all the army; and it was not longBefore a battle wagèd long and fierce.Full valiantly they fought the Hunnic hordes,Filling the air with their redundant cries,To which the trumpets join'd their piercing voice.Like glaring sheets of lightning flew the spearsSplitting the shields and helmets of the foe,And as the pelting hailstones in a storm,So fell the arrows, swift and merciless.And wilder still, and fiercer grew the fight,Until they drew the sword, and man to man they fought.Then many a rider lay with fractur'd skull,Beside his horse, fell'd by the self same sword.And in the foremost ranks Waltari fought,As if King Death himself with nimble scythe,Were mowing down his harvest,--thus he stoodFilling with awe the hearts of all around,And causing a wild flight where'er he turn'dSo that the bloody victory was won,And great the booty which they made that day.Giving the signal then to rest themselves,Now from their armed dance, Waltari plac'dA wreath of verdant oak leaves on his head,And all his men who saw it, did the same.And thus triumphantly they did return,Each to his sep'rate home, with gladsome heart.And to Attila's palace, Walter went,Riding but slowly, like a weary man.But when the servants saw him thus approach,With eager, curious looks, they hurried forth,And seizing his good palfrey by the reinsThey bade him welcome; offering their helpTo rest him after all his past fatigues,And putting questions to him 'bout the war,And if their arms were crown'd with victory.But scanty answers to these quests he made;Then entering the hall he found Hildgund,Who blushingly receiv'd his proffer'd kiss,Then hurried off to fetch a cup of wine,To still his thirst, after so much fatigue.Long was the draught he took, for as the earthGladly absorbs the rain after long drought,So did the wine refresh his parchèd tongue.Then, clasping the fair maiden's hand in his,For both knew well that they were long betroth'd,He thus spoke out before the blushing maid:"Many a year has softly glided by,Whilst in captivity we long'd for home,For though the cage that holds us, be of gold,'Tis still a cage, and ne'er can I forget,The ancient promise, which made thee my bride,In times of freedom, ere the Huns had come."These words, like fiery arrows found their way,Into the ears of Hildgund, who to try,The faith and truthfulness of him who spoke,With tearful voice, and flashing eye replied:"How darest thou dissemble thy true thoughts,For ne'er thy heart did feel, what says thy mouth,For thy proud heart is set on nobler game,Than the poor maiden, whom thou mockest now."With steady eyes, that gaz'd a half reproach,The valiant hero thus his speech resum'd:"Far be deceit and falsehood from my lips,Which never yet have utter'd one false word,And verily thou know'st I love thee well,--And if I, in thy woman's soul could readI fain would tell thee something, secretly,Whilst not a spying ear is list'ning near."Fully convinc'd of having wrong'd her knight,Hildgunde, weeping fell upon her knees,"Go where thou wilt, and I will follow thee,Through grief and dangers, until Death us part."With gentle words and loving arms he rais'dThe weeping maiden; saying all he knewTo comfort her, and then reveal'd his plans:"My soul has long been weary of this yoke,And fill'd with yearning for my fatherland,Yet never would I go without Hildgund,My own beloved future wife and queen."And smiling through her tears, Hildgund replied:"My lord, the words thou speakest, I have borne,For many years, a secret in my heart.So let us fly then when and how thou wilt,And our love will help us to surmountAll dangers that may rise in our path."Then further Walter whisper'd in her ear:"And as they have entrusted thee with allThe keys unto their treasures, I would haveThee lay aside the armour of the king,His helmet and his sword, a master-pieceOf foreign workmanship. Then go and fillTwo chests with gold and jewels to the brim,So that thou scarce canst lift them off the ground.Besides, four pair of well-made leathern shoes,--The way is long,--as many take for thee.And from the blacksmith fetch some fishing hooksSo that the lakes and rivers which we pass,May yield us fish, for our support and cheer.All this a week from this, let be prepar'd,For then the king will hold a sumptuous feast,And when the wine has sent them all to sleep,We two will fly, away to the far west!"The hour for the feast had come at lastAnd in the hall, bedeck'd with colours gay,Attila on his throne, in purple clad,Presided o'er the feast; whilst round about,On couches numberless, the others lay.The tables scarce could bear the heavy load,Of all the dishes, pleasant to behold;Whilst from the golden beakers issued forthEnticing, fragrant scents of costly wines.The meal had now begun. With zealous graceWaltari on himself the duty took,To act as host, encouraging the guests,To do full honour to the goodly cheer.And when at last their appetites were sooth'd,And all the tables from the hall remov'd,Waltari to the king these words address'd."And now, my noble lord and king, I beg,To give your gracious leave without delayThat the carousing to the meal succeed."Then dropping on his knees, a mighty cupRichly adorn'd with many a picture rare,He thus presented to the king, who said:"Indeed, my good cup-bearer, you mean well,By thus affording me the ample means,To drown my thirst, in this great flood of wine!"Then laughingly he rais'd it to his lips,And drank and drank, until the giant cupWas emptied to the dregs, and fairly stoodThe nail-test, as no single drop would flow,When upside down the beaker then was turn'd."Now, follow my example, all of you!"The old carouser cried, with cheerful voice.And swifter almost than the chasèd deer,The cup-bearers now hurried through the hall,Filling the cups as soon as they were quaff'd,Each trying in this tournament of wine,To get the better of his neighbours there.Thus in short space of time, many a tongueThat often utter'd wise and prudent speech,Began to stammer,--until by degrees,The wine did conquer e'en the strongest men;So that when midnight came, it found them all,A prey to drunken and besotted sleep.With soft and careful voice, Waltari nowCall'd to Hildgund, and bidding her prepare,Went to the stable then to fetch his horse,Lion by name, his good and trusty steedThat stood awaiting him pawing the ground,And with dilating nostrils, bit the reinsAs if impatient to display his strength.Then on each side the treasure laden chestsWere fasten'd carefully; some victuals tooPacked in a basket, had not been forgot.First lifting up the maiden in whose handsThe reins he plac'd, Waltari follow'd her,His red-plum'd helmet towering aboveHis massive armour, whose protective strengthHad stood the test, of many fierce attacks.On either side, he wore a trusty sword,Beside a Hunnic sabre, short but sharp;And in his hands both shield and lance he held.Thus, well prepar'd 'gainst any chance attackWaltari and his bride rode from the hallsOf Attila for ever--full of joyAll through the long and darksome night they rode,The maiden taking care to guide the steed,And watch the treasure, holding in her handThe fishing-rod, as her companion hadEnough to do to carry all his arms.But when the morning sun cast his first rays,Upon the slumb'ring earth, they left the track,Of the broad highway, turning to the shadeOf lonely woods, and if the wish for flightHad not been stronger in the maiden's heart,Than fear,--she fain would have shrunk back,Before the dangers which seem'd lurking thereBehind each tree; and when a branch but mov'dOr when some hidden bird its voice did raise,Her bosom heav'd, with half suppressèd sighs.But on they rode, having to find their way,Through pathless woods, and lonely mountain-glens.Yet still they slept, in that vast banquet hall,Until the sun stood high up in the sky,When Attila, the king, first did awake,And rais'd his heavy head, clouded with wine,Then slowly rose, and stepping to the door,Call'd out with drowsy voice: "Ye men out there,Go find Waltari, quick and bring him here,That he may cheer his king with sprightly talk,Presenting him the welcome morning-cup."The servants, to obey his order, wentIn all directions, looking here and there,Yet nowhere was Waltari to be found.With trembling gait, Dame Ospirin now came,And from afar was heard her scolding voice,"What in the name of wonder ails Hildgund,That she forgets to bring my morning-gown?"Then, there arose a whisper 'mongst the men,And soon the queen had guess'd the fatal truth,That both their captives now had taken flight.Loud was her grief with which she now exclaim'd,"Oh cursèd be the banquet, curs'd the wineWhich so much mischief in one night has wrought!And yet, I who foresaw the coming doom,Unheeded rais'd my warning voice in vain.So now the strongest pillar of support,That propp'd the throne, Waltari too is gone."Fierce was the anger which beset the heartOf Attila, who tearing his grey locksIn his impotent rage, could find no words,In which to utter, all that rag'd within.During that day he neither ate nor drank,In gloomy silence brooding o'er his loss,Even at night, his mind could find no rest,For stubborn sleep refus'd to close his eyes.So, tossing restlessly about, he layAs if his blood were chang'd to liquid fire;Then madly starting up, he left his couchAnd pacing his dark chamber up and down,His frantic grief in all his acts display'd.But while in fruitless sorrow, thus the nightCrept by with stealthy, slowly measured tread,Waltari with his lady-love rode onIn breathless silence, through the Hunnic lands.But when the rising dawn announc'd the day,King Attila did call the eldest Huns,Whose hoary heads were signs of ripen'd wit,Around his throne, and then address'd them thus:"He that shall bring Waltari back to me,That cunning fox who has deserted us,Him I will clothe, in costly golden robesAnd cover him with gifts from head to foot;So that his very feet shall tread on gold."'Twas said in vain, for neither count nor knightNor page nor slave was found in all the land,Who had the courage to pursue a man,Renownèd for his valour and his strength,Who never yet had found his match and peer,Whose sword was ever crown'd with victory.Thus all the king could say, was said in vainAnd unavailing were both gold and speech.Thus unpursued the lovers onward sped,Trav'ling by night and resting in the day,In shady nooks and shelter'd mountain-glensSpending their time in catching birds and fish,To still their hunger, and to drive awayAll idle fancies from their hearts and heads,So that in all this time, the noble knightNot once the maiden wanted to embrace.Full fourteen times the Sun had pass'd his roundSince they had left the halls of Attila,When in the ev'ning light, between the treesThey saw a sheet of water, flashing brightAnd golden in the sunshine,--and at last,They gave a joyous welcome to the Rhine,The noble river from whose vine-clad banksThe stately battlements and lofty towers,Of ancient Worms, Franconia's capitalRose proudly in the air. A ferry-manWho then was loitering beside his boat,Row'd them across, and as a fee receiv'dSome fish which in the Danube had been caught,On that same morning by Waltari's hook.As soon as they had reach'd the other sideWaltari spurr'd his charger to a quicker pace.The boatman, the next morning brought the fishUnto the royal cook, who gladly tookThe foreign ware; which, daintily prepar'dHe serv'd that very day at the king's board.Full of surprise King Gunther look'd at them,Then turning to his guests he said aloud,"In all the time that in Franconia, IHave sat upon the throne, I ne'er did see,A fish like these, amongst the goodly fareUpon my table; therefore tell me quickMy worthy cook, whence these fair fish may come?"The cook denounc'd the boatman, who was fetch'dAnd to the questions put, thus did reply:"As I was sitting by the riversideJust as the sun was slowly gliding downBehind the hills,--the eve of yesterday,A foreign rider, in full armour cameOut from the woods, looking so proud and boldAs if he then and there, came from the wars;And though his armour was not light I trowHe yet did spur his horse to hurry on,As if by unseen enemies pursued.Behind him, on the selfsame steed, a maidFair as the sun, was seated, whose small handsDid guide the animal, whose wondrous strength,I had full leisure to observe the while.Besides this double freight of man and maid,It bore two caskets, fasten'd to its sides,Which, as it shook its archèd neck, gave forthA ringing, clinking sound of precious gold.This man I row'd across, and got the fishInstead of copper payment, from his hands."As soon as he had ended, Hagen cried"My friends, I bid ye all rejoice with me!For surely 'tis my friend Waltari, whoNow from the Huns has like myself escap'd."Loud were the shouts of joy, which from all sides,Did greet this welcome news; but full of greedKing Gunther, when the tumult had decreas'd,With cunning speech, the company address'd."I also, my good friends, bid you rejoiceWith me, that I have liv'd to see the day,When the fair treasure, which my father gaveUnto the Huns,--a kindly providenceHas now sent back, and never be it said,That I had fail'd to profit by my luck."Thus Gunther spoke, nor did he tarry long,But choosing from his knights, twelve of the best,He bade them mount, and follow in this quest,On which his heart and soul was madly fix'd.In vain did Hagen, faithful to his friend,Bid him beware, and try to turn his thoughts,To better aims,--his words did not avail;For avarice and lust of gold had madeTheir fatal entrance into Gunther's heart.So from the gates of Worms, the well-arm'd troopRode onwards, following Waltari's track.Meanwhile Waltari and his gentle brideHad enter'd a dark wood, where mighty treesWere giving shade and shelter from the heat.Two rugged hills extended their steep peaks,In stern and gloomy grandeur heavenwards;A cool and shelter'd ravine lay between,Blocked up by narrow walls of sandy rocks.And cradled in a nest of trees and grass,A very den for robbers, hard to take,Which they no sooner spied, than Walter said,"Here let us rest my love! For many nightsMy eyes have tasted neither rest nor sleep."Then taking off his armour, he lay downResting his head upon the maiden's lap.And further he continued: "while I sleep.My own beloved, keep a careful lookInto the valley, and if but a cloudOf dust were rising in the distance, mindTo wake me with a soft and gentle touchOf thy dear fingers. Do not startle meAll of a sudden, even though a hostOf enemies were coming at a time.I fully trust thy loving eyes,"--and thusHe clos'd his own and soon was fast asleep.Meanwhile King Gunther's greedy eye had spied,The footprints of a solitary horse,And with exulting joy he cried aloud:"Come on my faithful vassals! Ere the sunHas sunk behind those hills, we shall have ta'enWaltari with his stolen gold, I trow."His face o'ershadow'd by a darkling cloudPrince Hagen said: "Believe me noble king,'That not so lightly you will vanquish him.Oft did I see how valiant heroes fell,Stretch'd to the ground by Walter's goodly sword,Which never miss'd its mark, nor found the manWho was his match in all the warlike arts."Unheeded fell these words on Gunther's ear,And in the heat of noon, they reach'd the glen,Which as a stronghold nature had array'd.With wakeful eyes, Hildgundé kept her watch,When suddenly she saw a cloud of dustRise in the distance, and could hear the trampOf swift approaching horses. So she laidHer lily fingers on Waltari's hair,And whisper'd in his ear: "awake my love,For I can see a troop of armed men;Their shields and lances glisten in the sun."And from his drowsy eyes he rubb'd the sleep,Then hastily he seiz'd his sword and shield,Put on the armour, and thus stood prepar'dFor bloody fight, which was to follow soon.But when Hildgunde saw the knights approach,She threw herself despairing on the ground,And with a wailing voice she cried aloud:"Ah woe is me! the Huns are coming here!But rather than return a prisonerA second time,--I prythee my dear lord,To kill me with thy sword;--so that if I,Shall never live to be thy wife, no manShall dare to make me his reluctant bride."With soothing words, Waltari then replied:"Be calm my own, and banish needless fear.For He, who was my help in former plight,Will not desert me in my sorest need.These are no Huns my darling! Silly boys,Not knowing what the danger they provoke,In youthful wantonness of stubborn pride."Then, with a merry laugh he cried aloud:"Forsooth, look yonder, if I don't mistakeThat man is Hagen my alien friend!"Then stepping to the entrance of the gorge,The hero boldly utter'd this proud speech:"I tell ye that not one Franconian man,Shall bring the tidings home unto his wifeThat, living, he had touch'd Waltari's gold,And,"--but he did not end the haughty speech,But falling on his knees he humbly ask'd,God's pardon for his own presumptuousness.Anon he rose, and letting his keen eyeGlance o'er the ranks of the approaching foes,He said unto himself, "of all these menThere is but one of whom I am afraid;And that is Hagen, for I know his strength;And that in cunning tricks, there is no manCan claim to be his equal, I believe."--But whilst Waltari held himself prepar'dSir Hagen once again did warn the king:"If you would hear my counsel, I adviseTo send some messenger, and try to getA peaceful issue; for maybe that heHimself is ready to give up the gold.If not, there still is time to draw the sword."So Gamelo of Metz, a stalwart knightWas sent as herald to Waltari then,And soon accosted him, with this demand:"Tell me, oh stranger knight, whence thou dost come,What is thy name, and where thy home may be?""First let me hear," Waltari then replied,"Who is the man, whose orders to obeyThou camest hither?" And with haughty mien,Sir Gamelo now said: "Franconia's king,Gunther by name, has sent me on this quest."Waltari then resum'd: "What does it mean,To stop and question peaceful trav'lers thus?Waltari is my name, of AquitainWhence, as a hostage to King Attila,I once was sent whilst I was yet a boy;And now, full tired of captivity,I'm turning back to liberty and home.""If that is so," Sir Gamelo replied,"I've come to bid thee, to deliver upThy golden treasure with yon damsel fairAnd thy good steed unto my lord and king;Who, under these conditions, will be pleas'd,To grant thee life and freedom unimpair'd."With anger flashing from his dark-blue eyesWaltari when he heard this offer made,Loudly exclaim'd: "Think ye that I'm a fool?How can thy king claim what is not his ownCommanding me as if he were a GodAnd I his wretched slave? As yet my handsAre free and without fetters,--yet, to proveMy courtesy unto thy royal lordI willingly now offer him herewithA hundred bracelets of the purest gold."With this fair offer, Gamelo return'd,And Hagen when he heard it, eagerlySaid to the king: "oh take what he will give,Lest evil consequences should ensue.A fearful dream, which came to me last night,Does fill my soul with an unusual dreadOf coming ill. I dreamt oh gracious lord,That we together hunted in the woodWhen suddenly a monstrous bear appear'dAttacking you with such wild vehemence,That ere I yet could come to rescue youThe bear had torn the flesh up to the hip,Of your right leg; and when with headlong haste,I rais'd the lance, it struck me with one paw,And scratch'd my eye out." But with proud disdain,The king replied: "I now see verily,That like thy father, much thou dost prefer,To fight with thy smooth tongue, than with thy sword."With burning pain and anger Hagen heardThese bitter words of ill deservèd blame.Yet, keeping a calm outside he replied:"If that be your opinion I'll refrain,From joining in this fight against my friend."So leading out his horse to a near hill,He there sat down to watch the bloody game.Then, Gunther turn'd to Gamelo once more."Go then, and tell him that we claim the whole.And should he still refuse to give it up,I trow that thou art brave and strong enough,To force, and throw him with thy valiant sword."And eager to obey his king's demand,Sir Gamelo rode out with joyous speed;And from the distance yet he rais'd his voice,And cried: "Halloh, good friend, I bid thee haste,And give the whole of thy fair treasure now,Into my hands, for my good lord and king."Waltari heard, but did not deign to speak,--So louder yet the knight, approaching him,Repeated the same quest: "Out with thy gold!"But now Waltari, losing patience too,Cried out with angry voice: "Leave off thy noise!One verily might think I were a thief,Who from thy king had robb'd the treasure here,Say, did I come to you with hostile mind,That thus you treat me like an outlaw'd man?Did I burn houses? or destroy the lands?Do other damage?--that you hunt me downLike some obnoxious, hurtful beast of prey?If then to pass your land, one needs must pay,I'll offer you the double now, to stillThe avarice and greed of your proud king."But Gamelo, with mocking tone replied."Yet more than this I trust you'll offer us,I'm weary now of talk,--so guard your life!"And covering his arm with threefold shield,He threw his lance, which would have struck the mark,If with a subtle movement, Walter hadNot turn'd aside, so that it glided past,Full harmless by, to fasten in the ground."Look out, here comes the answer,"--with these words,Waltari hurl'd his spear, which pierc'd the shieldOf Gamelo,--and to his hip did nailThe luckless hand, which just had miss'd its aim.The wounded knight then letting go his shield,With his remaining hand tried hard to wrenchThe spear out of his side; but ere he couldSucceed in his endeavour, Walter's swordHad stabb'd him to the heart;--so down he sank,Without a groan into the bloody grass.No sooner did his nephew, Scaramund,Behold his uncle's fall, when loud he cried:"Leave him to me!--for either I will die,Or have revenge for my dear kinsman's blood!"So on he gallop'd, up the narrow pathThat to Waltari's rocky fortress led,Gnashing his teeth with inward fury, thatCould find no other vent, he cried aloud:"I have not come, to fight for thy mean gold,But I will have revenge for him who fellBefore my very eyes,--slain by thy hand."But with unruffled calm Waltari spoke,"If mine the fault of that, which caus'd the deathOf him thou call'st thy uncle,--may I fallPierc'd to the heart by thy own lance or sword."Scarce had he ended, when in hasty speed,That work'd its own destruction, ScaramundHad thrown his lances both; and one was caught,By Walter's shield, whilst far beyond the mark,The second in some mighty oak stuck fast.With naked sword, in blind and furious wrath,He then bore down upon his enemy,To split his head with one resounding blow,Which made the sparks flash forth indignantly,--But could not pierce Waltari's cap of steel;A very masterpiece of workmanship.Before the echo of this mighty blowHad died away, Waltari's spear had thrownThe rider to the ground; and though he ask'd,For mercy, 'twas too late; for with one cutHis head was sever'd from his trunk, and thusHe shar'd the doom, that he could not revenge;And with his uncle, shar'd an early grave."Forwards!" was Gunther's cry, "and don't desist,Before the worn out man shall render upBoth life and gold!"--Then Werinhard rode forth,To try his chance against yon fearful man.He was no friend of lances;--all his skillLay in his bow,--and from the distance heSent many an arrow 'gainst his stalwart foe.Buthe, well cover'd by his massive shieldTook ample care, not to expose himself;So that, before Sir Werinhard came near,His quiver had been emptied, all in vain;And full of anger at this first defeatHe now rush'd forward with his naked sword."And if my arrows are too light for thee,Then let me see what this my sword will do!""Long have I waited here impatiently,For thy approach," Waltari made reply,And like a flash of lightning his good spearFlew through the air, the harbinger of death;Missing Sir Werinhard, it hit the horse,Which rearing backwards in its agonyThrew off its rider, and then fell on him,And ere Sir Werinhard could raise himself,Waltari's hand had seiz'd his yellow locks;Stern and relentlessly he did the sameFor him as for the others, and his headFell to the ground, where his companions layBut Gunther still was loth to quit the fight,So, as fourth combatant, came EkkefriedHe who had slain the duke of SaxonyAnd liv'd an outlaw since, at Gunther's court.Proudly he sat upon his red roan steed;And ere for serious fight he did prepare,With taunting word and mocking speech he tried,To rouse Waltari from his outward calm."Say, art thou human, or some imp of hellWho with his magic tricks, by demons taught,Has thrown and vanquish'd better men than he?But now, believe me they will be aveng'd!"But he, with a contemptuous laugh replied:"Forsooth I know the meaning of such stuff,And am not frightened by thy idle boasts.Come on, and I will teach thee my dark tricks,And prove my being master of my art!""I will not keep thee waiting,--so beware!"And with these words, the Saxon Ekkefried,With dext'rous hand, his iron spear did throw,Which striking 'gainst Waltari's shield was brokeTo pieces, like some wand of brittle glass.And with another laugh, Waltari cried:"Take back thy present, and I warrant theeThou'lt find the goblin knows to hit the mark!"--A moment later, and his fearful spear,Cleaving the shield, had pierc'd unto the heartOf Ekkefried, granting a speedy death.And as his lawful prize Waltari ledHis goodly horse away unto the spotWhere Hildgund' still was watching anxiously.The fifth who came to undertake the fight,Hadwart by name, had only brought his sword,With which he hoped to kill this dreadful foe.And to the king, he said before he went:"If this my sword, should be victorious,I prithee, let we have Waltari's shield!"Spurring his horse, he rode unto the spot,Where the dead corpses lay blocking the path;So, jumping to the ground, he cried aloud:"Come out then from thy corner, thou sly rogue,Who like a false envenom'd snake dost lieIn ambush, hoping thus to save thy life,Which I am come to take with my good sword.And as thy dainty, many-colour'd shieldWill be my booty, I command thee now,To lay it down, lest it might damag'd be.And if it were decreed that I should fall,Thou never wilt escape with thy base life;As my companions will avenge my death."With calm composure, Walter, thus replied:"Indeed, I would not want my trusty shield,Which more than once to-day has sav'd my life.Without that shield, I should not now stand here.""Then wait, and see me take it!" Hadwart cried,"Thy steed, and aye, thy rose-cheek'd damsel too,Will soon be mine! Come out then, my brave sword!"Then there began a fighting, as the like,Had ne'er been seen before in yonder wood;So that with wonder and amazement thoseFranconians stood, and looked on the while.At last, to end the combat with one stroke,Hadwart dealt such a blow, as must have fell'd,Waltari to the ground, if with his spearsThe blow he had not parried, and anonHe wrench'd the weapon out of Hadwart's handAnd threw it far away over his head.In ignominious flight Sir Hadwart thenTried hard to save his life, but Alphers' son,With swifter feet did follow on his heels;"Stop yet a while, thou hast forgot thy shield!"And with these words, he rais'd the iron lance;And struck it through Sir Hadwart's corselet, soThat as he fell, he pinn'd him to the ground.The sixth who volunteer'd his chance to takeWas Hagen's nephew, young Sir Patavid.On seeing him prepar'd to meet his doom,His uncle feeling pity with the lad,With persuasive speech tried hard to turnHis daring fancy from this bold endeavour,"Oh, nephew, see how death is lurking there,And do not waste your fresh and youthful lifeAgainst yon man, whom you will conquer not."But Patavid not heeding this advice,Fearlessly went, spurr'd by ambitious pride.With mournful heart Sir Hagen sat apart,And heaving a deep sigh he spoke these words:"Oh ever greedy youth! oh baneful thirst of gold,I wish that hell would gather all her golden dross,And set the dragons to watch over it,Instead of tempting wretched human soulsInto perdition. There's none has got enough,And to gain more, they risk their very livesAnd souls into the bargain. Wretched fools!That dig and toil and scrape, and do not seeThat they are often digging their own grave,Beside which death stands grinning. Say, what newsShall I take back to greet thy mother's ears,And thy poor wife, who waits for thy return?"And as he thought of her despairing grief,A solitary tear would trickle down:"Farewell, farewell for ever, nephew mine!"He cried in broken accents, which the windsDid carry off unto Waltari's ear,Whose heart was touch'd by his old friend's complaint,And thus address'd the bold, tho' youthful knight:"I warn thee, my brave lad, to spare thy strength,For other deeds and not to risk the fate,Of those who came before thee,--stalwart knights,For I should grieve to lay thee by their side.""My death does not regard thee; come and fight,Forsooth, I did not come for idle talk,"--Was Patavid's reply, and as he spoke,His whizzing spear came flying through the air.But by Waltari's own 'twas beaten off,With such a mighty stroke, that e'en before the feet,Of fair Hildgund it fell, close by the cave.A cry of fear escapèd from her lips.Then, from her rock, she anxiously look'd forthTo see whether her knight still kept the ground,Another time he rais'd his warning voiceBidding his enemy desist from further fight,Who, heedless of these words, still forward press'dWith nakèd sword in hand, hoping to fellWaltari with one strong and dext'rous blow.But he, bent down his head, so that the swordNot meeting with resistance, cut the airAnd draggèd him who held it to the ground;And ere that he could rise, Waltari's swordHad dealt the death-blow with unsparing hand.Quick to avenge his friend, Sir Gerwig nowDid spur his noble steed, which with one boundJump'd o'er the bodies that block'd up the way.And ere Waltari yet could free his sword,From his last foe, Sir Gerwig's battle-axe--The fav'rite weapon of Franconians thenFlew through the air, a fearful sight to see.Quicker than thought Waltari seiz'd his shieldTo guard himself,--and with one backward boundTook up his trusty lance, and thus prepar'd,Unflinching stood, awaiting the attack.No single word was said on either side;Each thirsted for the fight with hungry soul;One to avenge the death of his dear friend,The other to defend his life and gold,And her he valued more, far more than both.Full long they fought with unrelenting zealA well-match'd pair, until Waltari's lanceLifting the shield of his antagonist,Did find its way into his corsèlet;And with a hollow groan he reelèd backExpiring on the spot where he fell down.With fear and wonder, the Franconians saw,Waltari's prowess, and their friend's defeat;So that at last they all besought the kingTo cease from further fight; but he replied:"Ah well, indeed, I never would have thoughtTo find such weak and craven-hearted menAmongst my knights that I deem'd brave before.What! does misfortune make your spirits fail,Instead of raising them to boiling heat?And do you mean to say we should returnConquer'd and beaten by one single man?Nay, if before I only wish'd to haveThe stranger's gold, I now will have his life!The blood which he has shed, does cry for blood!"He ceas'd and at his words, new courage fill'dThe hearts of his brave knights, so that now eachWould be the first to try the bloody game,And in a file they now rode up the path.Meanwhile, Waltari there to cool his brow,Had ta'en his helmet off, and hung it upOn the strong branch of a tall stately oak;And as the fragrant breezes cool'd his browHe felt new strength and vigour in his limbs,But while he thus stood breathing the fresh air,Sir Randolf on his fiery steed advanc'dAnd came upon him with such sudden speed,That with his iron bar quite unawaresHe would have pierc'd Waltari where he stoodIf that the armour which did shield his breast,Had not been forg'd by Weland's dext'rous hands,And thus resisted Randolf's fierce assault.Not having time to don his cap of steel,He seiz'd his shield as Randolf rais'd his sword,And dealt a cut, which, grazing Walter's head,Cut off some locks of his abundant hair.The second blow now struck against the edgeOf Walter's shield, with such fierce vehemenceThat it stuck fast, and ere that he could wrenchIt from this prison-hold, Waltari's handHad dragg'd him from the saddle to the ground,"Ha!" cried he, "thou shalt pay for my shorn locks,With thine own pate!" and as he said the words,Sir Randolf's head lay bleeding on the ground.The ninth who now rode up in furious hasteWas Helmnod, bearing neither sword nor lance,But on a long and twisted cord insteadA heavy trident set with many spikes.And in the rear, his friends held the one end,Of the strong rope, hoping, that when the spikesHad taken hold of Walter's shield, to dragHim to the ground with their united force."Take care of thy bald head!" Sir Helmnod cried,"For death is coming towards thee from above!"And as he spoke, he threw the curious armsWith practis'd hands,--nor did he miss the aim.Right in the middle of Waltari's shieldIt fix'd its iron claws, and a loud cryOf joyous exultation fill'd the air,As this success was noted by the restWho now, e'en aided by the king himself,Pull'd hard with all their might,--yet 'twas in vainFor like some giant-oak he kept the groundUntil, wearied at last with such vain sport,He suddenly let go his faithful shield.So, trusting merely on his coat of mailAnd his own sword, he madly rush'd alongAnd with one fearful blow, he split the headAnd neck of Helmnod, through his cap of steel.Before Sir Trogus yet could free himselfFrom the entangling rope that held him fast,To fetch his arms which all had laid asideNot to be cumber'd, as they pull'd the rope,Waltari with one slash of his fierce swordHad lam'd him on both legs, and ta'en his shield,Before Sir Trogus could stretch out his handWith which he now took up a mighty stoneAnd hurl'd it with such vigour through the air,That it did break his own strong shield in twain.Then, crawling onwards through the shelt'ring grass.Sir Trogus stealthily regain'd his sword,Which joyfully he rais'd above his head.His hero's heart still long'd to die in fightAnd so he cried aloud: "oh, that a friendWere near to help me, or my trusty shieldHad not been robb'd! I tell thee, haughty knight,Not thine own bravery, but want of chanceHas conquer'd me. Come on and take my sword!""Thy wish shall be fulfill'd!" Waltari cried,And quick as lightning he flew down the path,Cut off the hand that vainly rais'd the sword,So that it fell, a useless member nowUnto the ground. But ere the final blowWhich was to end his soul's captivity,He yet had dealt, Sir Tannast gallop'd down,To help his friend in this dread hour of need.Full angrily Waltari turnèd round,And with a ghastly wound beneath his armSir Tannast fell, bleeding beside his friend;And murmuring, "farewell, beloved maid!"He breath'd his last, and with a smile he died.Full of despair, Sir Trogus rais'd his voiceTo heap such bitter words and sharp insultsUpon Waltari's head, that he, inflam'dWith angry rage, to stop his sland'rous tongueNow throttled him with his own chain of gold.When all his knights had thus been slain, the kingIn bitter sorrow fled unto the spot,Where Hagen sat in gloomy solitude;And shedding scalding tears of rage and grief,He tried to touch his heart with subtle speechAnd thus to rouse him from his apathy.But cold as ice Sir Hagen made reply:"Full well thou know'st, oh king, that the pale blood,Which from my fathers I inheritedWhose craven hearts would shrink with coward fearWhen they but heard of war, does hinder meTo fight with yonder man. 'Tis thy own speechWhich now does lame my arm. I cannot fight."Again the king tried to appease his wrathHumbling himself, by asking pardon now,And promising that if he would but fight,He would reward him amply, ending thus:"Indeed, I never shall survive the day,On which the burning shame will be reveal'd,When in the streets and high-roads 'twill be said,'One single man did kill a host of knightsAnd there was none who would avenge the deed!'"Still Hagen hesitated, thinking howWaltari once had been his bosom-friend,His brother almost,--but when now at lastHis king and master fell upon his knees,And with uplifted hands besought his help,Then the ice melted which had bound his heartIn chains of pride and hatred, and he felt,That if he still refus'd, his honour wouldFor ever be defil'd, and so he spoke:"Whate'er thou biddest me to do, my king,It shall be done, and what no bribe on earthCould have obtained, the faith I owe to thee,Has now accomplish'd;--but before I tryMy sword and strength against my quondam friend,I fain would find some way to drive him fromHis present stronghold, which does make his strength.For, whilst he keeps that place, 'tis certain deathTo come but near him. Ah, believe me king,That never even to avenge the deathOf my fair nephew, would I raise my handAgainst my well-tried friend. Only for thee,To save thee from the shame of this defeat,I sacrifice my friendship. Let us hence,So that, imagining that we were gone,He too will ride away, suspecting naught;And in the open field, quite unprepar'd,We will attack him; and I warn thee thatThe fight will not be easy, even so."This cunning plan did please the king so well,That he embrac'd Sir Hagen on the spot,And then they went away to hide themselves,Leaving their horses grazing in the woods.The sun had disappear'd behind the hillsAnd now our hero, wearied from the fight,Stood there, revolving in his inmost heart,Whether 'twere best, to rest and pass the night--In his good stronghold, or to hurry on,And find his way out of this wilderness.His soul misgave him when he saw the kingKissing Sir Hagen, with exulting mien.Yet, after he had thought of this and that,He made resolve 'twere better to remain,So that it were not said that he had fled,Like some base criminal at fall of night.So, cutting down from the surrounding treesAnd thorny brambles many a branch and bough,He made himself a strong and solid hedge,To guard him 'gainst an unforeseen attack--With deep-drawn sighs he then walk'd to the spot,Where all the corpses lay, his hand had fell'd,And putting back each head unto its trunk,He threw himself down on his knees and prayed:"Oh Lord of hosts, whom all the world obeys,Without whose holy will, nothing is done,I thank Thee, that to-day Thou wert with meHelping me to defeat mine enemies,Who thirsted all to drink my guiltless blood.Oh Lord whose mighty word destroyeth sin,Yet taketh pity on us sinners all,I pray Thee now to show Thy mercy rare,On these my hand has slain, so that their souls,May enter all into Thy paradise,And I may meet them there, when my day comes."Thus Walter pray'd; then, rising from the ground,He went to fetch the horses of the dead,And tied them all together with a cordMade of some willow branches, growing near.Then, taking off his armour, he lay downUpon his shield, to rest his weary limbs;And speaking tender words unto Hildgund,He bade her watch his slumbers as before,For much he needed some refreshing sleep.Thus all the night, the fair and faithful maidSat by his side, driving the sleep away,That tried to steal upon her unawares,By softly singing little bits of song.Before the dawn of day Waltari roseAnd telling her to sleep now in her turnHe paced the ground with calm and even steps,His lance in hand, ready for an attack.And thus the night wore on, and morning came;A soft, refreshing mist fell down as dewHanging in pearly drops on grass and trees.Then, from the corpses with all rev'rent careWaltari took the armours, sword and all,Leaving their costly dresses though, untouch'd.Four of the chargers then were laden withHis rightful booty, whilst the other twoWere destin'd for himself and his fair bride.Yet ere they started, mounting on a tree,Waltari with his falcon-eyes survey'dThe scenery around, but seeing noughtWhich might have rous'd suspicion, he resolv'dTo wait no more, and thus they now rode forth,Hildgunde, with the booty-laden steedsRiding ahead, whilst Walter clos'd the train.Scarce were they gone when Hildgund looking back,Beheld two stalwart knights approaching fast,And paling with dismay, she cried aloud:"Oh dear my Lord! The end is coming nowI pray thee fly, and save thy precious life!"Turning his head, Waltari saw the foeAnd said with tranquil mien: "no man shall say,Waltari fled, whilst he could wield the sword!Here, take the reins of King Attila's horseAnd save the golden treasure. Yonder woodWill give thee shelter, whilst I will accostThe strangers thus, as it becomes a knight."The maiden tremblingly obey'd his words,Whilst he prepar'd his trusty lance and shield.Yet from a distance, Gunther called out:"Now thou no more canst hide between the rocks,Stand still and let us see, whether the end,Will not reveal another countenance!And whether fortune is thy hired maid!"But with contemptuous mien, Waltari turn'dHis head away, as if he had not heardAnd looking full in Hagen's face, he said:"Oh Hagen, my old friend, what has occurr'd,That as an enemy you come to me?Hast thou forgot the tears which thou hast shedWhen lying in my arms for the last time,--That thus thou treatest me, thy faithful friend?Indeed, I thought the day that we should meet,Would be a joyous one for thee and me,And that with open arms, and loving wordsThou wouldst accost me. Oh, how oft my heartWould beat with restless longing, when I thoughtOf thee, so far away, yet still my friend.Hast thou forgotten then our boyish days,When both did work and strive, for one great aim,Then, when I look'd into thine eyes I feltAs if my parents and my home were near,As if I were not quite forsaken yet.And so I kept my love and faith for theeAnd, therefore, pray thee to depart in peaceAnd as a friendly gift I'll fill thy shieldWith gold and jewels even to the brim."But with a sombre look and angry voiceSir Hagen to this speech now made reply."Indeed, I think, that thou didst break the faithWhen by thy cruel sword my nephew fell,His lifeand not thy gold I claim from thee,And will hear nought of friendship past and gone."Thus speaking he alighted from his horseAs likewise did Waltari, and the king;And so they stood prepar'd, two against one,Sir Hagen was the first to break the peaceAnd with an able hand he threw the spear,Which proudly pierc'd the air with hissing sound;But without deigning e'en to turn aside,Waltari stood extending his good shield,From which the lance rebounded with such forceAs if its point had struck against a wall of stone.Then Gunther threw his spear with good intentBut with such feeble arm, that it fell down,Scarce having touch'd the rim of Walter's shield.Their lances being gone, both drew the sword,And with it levell'd many a well-aim'd blowWhich all were parried by Waltari's lance.At last an evil thought struck Gunther's mind,And whilst Sir Hagen fiercely onward press'dHe stealthily bent down to seize his lance,But just when he had seized the oaken shaft,Waltari, throwing bold Sir Hagen back,Did place his foot on the coveted spear.Full of dismay, the king stood there aghastNot moving hand or foot, so that his lifeWas sore endanger'd, when Sir Hagen sprangWith deerlike swiftness forwards, shielding him,So that recovering by slow degreesHe once again could join in the attack,That wagèd fiercer now than e'er before;Yet still Waltari stood like some strong rock,Unmov'd and calm amidst the breakers roar.But from his eyes shot forth such scathing looks,And on his brow, in triple sisterhood,Sat fury, hatred and the fierce desireTo die or gain the bloody victory.At last, to Hagen he address'd these words:"Oh hawthorn tree,[3]I do not fear thy prick!And let thy vaunted strength be, what it may,I mean to wrestle with thee." At these words,He hurl'd his lance with such unerring aimThat part of Hagen's armour was torn off.Then turning suddenly to Gunther, heWith one astounding cut of his good sword,Did sever the right leg from Gunther's frame.Half dead, King Gunther fell upon his shieldBut when Waltari just had rais'd his arm,To deal the mortal blow, Sir Hagen sawThe peril of his king, and with one boundHe threw himself between, so that the swordFell on his helmet, with a clashing soundAnd then was shiver'd into sev'ral bits.With angry frown, Waltari threw the hiltContemptuously aside, for though of gold,What could it now avail him? Then he rais'dHis iron-pointed lance with careless handBut ere he yet had pois'd it, Hagen's swordCut off the hand, which to its enemiesHad been so fearful, and so far renown'd,--And now lay helpless on the bloody ground.Yet even then, Waltari's noble heartThought not of flight, but pressing back his pain,His left hand grasp'd the Hunnic scimitarWhich still was left him in this hour of need,And which aveng'd him, slashing Hagen's faceIn such a fearful way, that his right eyeBesides six teeth he lost by this one blow.Then both did drop their arms, and thus at lastThe bloody fight was ended. Both had shownTheir strength and valour in an equal way,And now did part with knightly courtesy.Then, sitting side by side, they staunch'd their woundsWith flowers, until Walter's ringing voiceHad brought the fair Hildgund unto their side,Who with her gentle hands then dress'd the wounds.As soon as this was done, Waltari said:"Now sweet my love, I prythee go and bringFor each a cup of wine, for verilyI think we have deserv'd it all to-day.First give the cup to Hagen, my old friend,Who, like a faithful vassal to his king,Has fought full valiantly in his behalf;Next give it me and then the king may drink,Who least has done, and therefore shall be last."The maiden doing as her lord had said,Stepp'd up to Hagen, who, though plagued with thirstRefus'd to drink, before Waltari's lipsHad been refreshèd by the cooling draught.And when the pangs of thirst had thus been still'dThe two, who just before had been dread foes,Now sat together, holding friendly talk,And jesting gaily as in days gone by."In future thou, my friend," Sir Hagen said,"Must wear a leathern glove, well stuff'd with wool,On thy right arm, to make the world believeThou still hadst got both hands at thy commands,And at thy right side thou must wear the sword;But worse than all, when thou wilt clasp thy brideWith thy left arm thou must embrace her then,--In fact all thou wilt do in future lifeMust awkward be,--left-handedas they say."Briskly Waltari to this jest replied:"Oh, stop thy railing, poor and one-eyed manFor with my left hand here, I yet may killThe boar and stag, which thou no more wilt eat;And in my fancy I can see thee look,On friends and foes and all the world awry!But for the sake of our youthful daysAnd ancient friendship, I will counsel thee,To bid thy nurse make porridge and milk-soupsWhen thou com'st home, such as befit thy stateOf toothless incapacity for other food."--Thus they renew'd the friendship of their youth,And after having rested, laid the kingWho suffer'd greatly, on his horse's back.And then the two Franconians slowly rodeTo Worms, from where the day before they cameIn all the pride of their exulting hearts,Meanwhile, Waltari and his gentle brideWent on to Aquitania, Walter's homeWhere they were both receiv'd with tears of joyBy his old father, who had long despair'dOf holding in his arms his son again,Who soon was wedded to fair Hildegund;And when his father died, for thirty yearsWaltari sway'd the sceptre, lov'd by all.Oh, much beloved reader, if my songHas been but roughly chanted, I imploreThy kind forgiveness,--I did my best.Praisèd be Jesus Christ!--So ends Waltari's song.

Yet still they slept, in that vast banquet hall,Until the sun stood high up in the sky,When Attila, the king, first did awake,And rais'd his heavy head, clouded with wine,Then slowly rose, and stepping to the door,Call'd out with drowsy voice: "Ye men out there,Go find Waltari, quick and bring him here,That he may cheer his king with sprightly talk,Presenting him the welcome morning-cup."The servants, to obey his order, wentIn all directions, looking here and there,Yet nowhere was Waltari to be found.With trembling gait, Dame Ospirin now came,And from afar was heard her scolding voice,"What in the name of wonder ails Hildgund,That she forgets to bring my morning-gown?"Then, there arose a whisper 'mongst the men,And soon the queen had guess'd the fatal truth,That both their captives now had taken flight.Loud was her grief with which she now exclaim'd,"Oh cursèd be the banquet, curs'd the wineWhich so much mischief in one night has wrought!And yet, I who foresaw the coming doom,Unheeded rais'd my warning voice in vain.So now the strongest pillar of support,That propp'd the throne, Waltari too is gone."Fierce was the anger which beset the heartOf Attila, who tearing his grey locksIn his impotent rage, could find no words,In which to utter, all that rag'd within.During that day he neither ate nor drank,In gloomy silence brooding o'er his loss,Even at night, his mind could find no rest,For stubborn sleep refus'd to close his eyes.So, tossing restlessly about, he layAs if his blood were chang'd to liquid fire;Then madly starting up, he left his couchAnd pacing his dark chamber up and down,His frantic grief in all his acts display'd.But while in fruitless sorrow, thus the nightCrept by with stealthy, slowly measured tread,Waltari with his lady-love rode onIn breathless silence, through the Hunnic lands.But when the rising dawn announc'd the day,King Attila did call the eldest Huns,Whose hoary heads were signs of ripen'd wit,Around his throne, and then address'd them thus:"He that shall bring Waltari back to me,That cunning fox who has deserted us,Him I will clothe, in costly golden robesAnd cover him with gifts from head to foot;So that his very feet shall tread on gold."'Twas said in vain, for neither count nor knightNor page nor slave was found in all the land,Who had the courage to pursue a man,Renownèd for his valour and his strength,Who never yet had found his match and peer,Whose sword was ever crown'd with victory.Thus all the king could say, was said in vainAnd unavailing were both gold and speech.Thus unpursued the lovers onward sped,Trav'ling by night and resting in the day,In shady nooks and shelter'd mountain-glensSpending their time in catching birds and fish,To still their hunger, and to drive awayAll idle fancies from their hearts and heads,So that in all this time, the noble knightNot once the maiden wanted to embrace.Full fourteen times the Sun had pass'd his roundSince they had left the halls of Attila,When in the ev'ning light, between the treesThey saw a sheet of water, flashing brightAnd golden in the sunshine,--and at last,They gave a joyous welcome to the Rhine,The noble river from whose vine-clad banksThe stately battlements and lofty towers,Of ancient Worms, Franconia's capitalRose proudly in the air. A ferry-manWho then was loitering beside his boat,Row'd them across, and as a fee receiv'dSome fish which in the Danube had been caught,On that same morning by Waltari's hook.As soon as they had reach'd the other sideWaltari spurr'd his charger to a quicker pace.The boatman, the next morning brought the fishUnto the royal cook, who gladly tookThe foreign ware; which, daintily prepar'dHe serv'd that very day at the king's board.Full of surprise King Gunther look'd at them,Then turning to his guests he said aloud,"In all the time that in Franconia, IHave sat upon the throne, I ne'er did see,A fish like these, amongst the goodly fareUpon my table; therefore tell me quickMy worthy cook, whence these fair fish may come?"The cook denounc'd the boatman, who was fetch'dAnd to the questions put, thus did reply:"As I was sitting by the riversideJust as the sun was slowly gliding downBehind the hills,--the eve of yesterday,A foreign rider, in full armour cameOut from the woods, looking so proud and boldAs if he then and there, came from the wars;And though his armour was not light I trowHe yet did spur his horse to hurry on,As if by unseen enemies pursued.Behind him, on the selfsame steed, a maidFair as the sun, was seated, whose small handsDid guide the animal, whose wondrous strength,I had full leisure to observe the while.Besides this double freight of man and maid,It bore two caskets, fasten'd to its sides,Which, as it shook its archèd neck, gave forthA ringing, clinking sound of precious gold.This man I row'd across, and got the fishInstead of copper payment, from his hands."As soon as he had ended, Hagen cried"My friends, I bid ye all rejoice with me!For surely 'tis my friend Waltari, whoNow from the Huns has like myself escap'd."Loud were the shouts of joy, which from all sides,Did greet this welcome news; but full of greedKing Gunther, when the tumult had decreas'd,With cunning speech, the company address'd."I also, my good friends, bid you rejoiceWith me, that I have liv'd to see the day,When the fair treasure, which my father gaveUnto the Huns,--a kindly providenceHas now sent back, and never be it said,That I had fail'd to profit by my luck."Thus Gunther spoke, nor did he tarry long,But choosing from his knights, twelve of the best,He bade them mount, and follow in this quest,On which his heart and soul was madly fix'd.In vain did Hagen, faithful to his friend,Bid him beware, and try to turn his thoughts,To better aims,--his words did not avail;For avarice and lust of gold had madeTheir fatal entrance into Gunther's heart.So from the gates of Worms, the well-arm'd troopRode onwards, following Waltari's track.Meanwhile Waltari and his gentle brideHad enter'd a dark wood, where mighty treesWere giving shade and shelter from the heat.Two rugged hills extended their steep peaks,In stern and gloomy grandeur heavenwards;A cool and shelter'd ravine lay between,Blocked up by narrow walls of sandy rocks.And cradled in a nest of trees and grass,A very den for robbers, hard to take,Which they no sooner spied, than Walter said,"Here let us rest my love! For many nightsMy eyes have tasted neither rest nor sleep."Then taking off his armour, he lay downResting his head upon the maiden's lap.And further he continued: "while I sleep.My own beloved, keep a careful lookInto the valley, and if but a cloudOf dust were rising in the distance, mindTo wake me with a soft and gentle touchOf thy dear fingers. Do not startle meAll of a sudden, even though a hostOf enemies were coming at a time.I fully trust thy loving eyes,"--and thusHe clos'd his own and soon was fast asleep.Meanwhile King Gunther's greedy eye had spied,The footprints of a solitary horse,And with exulting joy he cried aloud:"Come on my faithful vassals! Ere the sunHas sunk behind those hills, we shall have ta'enWaltari with his stolen gold, I trow."His face o'ershadow'd by a darkling cloudPrince Hagen said: "Believe me noble king,'That not so lightly you will vanquish him.Oft did I see how valiant heroes fell,Stretch'd to the ground by Walter's goodly sword,Which never miss'd its mark, nor found the manWho was his match in all the warlike arts."Unheeded fell these words on Gunther's ear,And in the heat of noon, they reach'd the glen,Which as a stronghold nature had array'd.With wakeful eyes, Hildgundé kept her watch,When suddenly she saw a cloud of dustRise in the distance, and could hear the trampOf swift approaching horses. So she laidHer lily fingers on Waltari's hair,And whisper'd in his ear: "awake my love,For I can see a troop of armed men;Their shields and lances glisten in the sun."And from his drowsy eyes he rubb'd the sleep,Then hastily he seiz'd his sword and shield,Put on the armour, and thus stood prepar'dFor bloody fight, which was to follow soon.But when Hildgunde saw the knights approach,She threw herself despairing on the ground,And with a wailing voice she cried aloud:"Ah woe is me! the Huns are coming here!But rather than return a prisonerA second time,--I prythee my dear lord,To kill me with thy sword;--so that if I,Shall never live to be thy wife, no manShall dare to make me his reluctant bride."With soothing words, Waltari then replied:"Be calm my own, and banish needless fear.For He, who was my help in former plight,Will not desert me in my sorest need.These are no Huns my darling! Silly boys,Not knowing what the danger they provoke,In youthful wantonness of stubborn pride."Then, with a merry laugh he cried aloud:"Forsooth, look yonder, if I don't mistakeThat man is Hagen my alien friend!"Then stepping to the entrance of the gorge,The hero boldly utter'd this proud speech:"I tell ye that not one Franconian man,Shall bring the tidings home unto his wifeThat, living, he had touch'd Waltari's gold,And,"--but he did not end the haughty speech,But falling on his knees he humbly ask'd,God's pardon for his own presumptuousness.Anon he rose, and letting his keen eyeGlance o'er the ranks of the approaching foes,He said unto himself, "of all these menThere is but one of whom I am afraid;And that is Hagen, for I know his strength;And that in cunning tricks, there is no manCan claim to be his equal, I believe."--But whilst Waltari held himself prepar'dSir Hagen once again did warn the king:"If you would hear my counsel, I adviseTo send some messenger, and try to getA peaceful issue; for maybe that heHimself is ready to give up the gold.If not, there still is time to draw the sword."So Gamelo of Metz, a stalwart knightWas sent as herald to Waltari then,And soon accosted him, with this demand:"Tell me, oh stranger knight, whence thou dost come,What is thy name, and where thy home may be?""First let me hear," Waltari then replied,"Who is the man, whose orders to obeyThou camest hither?" And with haughty mien,Sir Gamelo now said: "Franconia's king,Gunther by name, has sent me on this quest."Waltari then resum'd: "What does it mean,To stop and question peaceful trav'lers thus?Waltari is my name, of AquitainWhence, as a hostage to King Attila,I once was sent whilst I was yet a boy;And now, full tired of captivity,I'm turning back to liberty and home.""If that is so," Sir Gamelo replied,"I've come to bid thee, to deliver upThy golden treasure with yon damsel fairAnd thy good steed unto my lord and king;Who, under these conditions, will be pleas'd,To grant thee life and freedom unimpair'd."With anger flashing from his dark-blue eyesWaltari when he heard this offer made,Loudly exclaim'd: "Think ye that I'm a fool?How can thy king claim what is not his ownCommanding me as if he were a GodAnd I his wretched slave? As yet my handsAre free and without fetters,--yet, to proveMy courtesy unto thy royal lordI willingly now offer him herewithA hundred bracelets of the purest gold."With this fair offer, Gamelo return'd,And Hagen when he heard it, eagerlySaid to the king: "oh take what he will give,Lest evil consequences should ensue.A fearful dream, which came to me last night,Does fill my soul with an unusual dreadOf coming ill. I dreamt oh gracious lord,That we together hunted in the woodWhen suddenly a monstrous bear appear'dAttacking you with such wild vehemence,That ere I yet could come to rescue youThe bear had torn the flesh up to the hip,Of your right leg; and when with headlong haste,I rais'd the lance, it struck me with one paw,And scratch'd my eye out." But with proud disdain,The king replied: "I now see verily,That like thy father, much thou dost prefer,To fight with thy smooth tongue, than with thy sword."With burning pain and anger Hagen heardThese bitter words of ill deservèd blame.Yet, keeping a calm outside he replied:"If that be your opinion I'll refrain,From joining in this fight against my friend."So leading out his horse to a near hill,He there sat down to watch the bloody game.Then, Gunther turn'd to Gamelo once more."Go then, and tell him that we claim the whole.And should he still refuse to give it up,I trow that thou art brave and strong enough,To force, and throw him with thy valiant sword."And eager to obey his king's demand,Sir Gamelo rode out with joyous speed;And from the distance yet he rais'd his voice,And cried: "Halloh, good friend, I bid thee haste,And give the whole of thy fair treasure now,Into my hands, for my good lord and king."Waltari heard, but did not deign to speak,--So louder yet the knight, approaching him,Repeated the same quest: "Out with thy gold!"But now Waltari, losing patience too,Cried out with angry voice: "Leave off thy noise!One verily might think I were a thief,Who from thy king had robb'd the treasure here,Say, did I come to you with hostile mind,That thus you treat me like an outlaw'd man?Did I burn houses? or destroy the lands?Do other damage?--that you hunt me downLike some obnoxious, hurtful beast of prey?If then to pass your land, one needs must pay,I'll offer you the double now, to stillThe avarice and greed of your proud king."But Gamelo, with mocking tone replied."Yet more than this I trust you'll offer us,I'm weary now of talk,--so guard your life!"And covering his arm with threefold shield,He threw his lance, which would have struck the mark,If with a subtle movement, Walter hadNot turn'd aside, so that it glided past,Full harmless by, to fasten in the ground."Look out, here comes the answer,"--with these words,Waltari hurl'd his spear, which pierc'd the shieldOf Gamelo,--and to his hip did nailThe luckless hand, which just had miss'd its aim.The wounded knight then letting go his shield,With his remaining hand tried hard to wrenchThe spear out of his side; but ere he couldSucceed in his endeavour, Walter's swordHad stabb'd him to the heart;--so down he sank,Without a groan into the bloody grass.No sooner did his nephew, Scaramund,Behold his uncle's fall, when loud he cried:"Leave him to me!--for either I will die,Or have revenge for my dear kinsman's blood!"So on he gallop'd, up the narrow pathThat to Waltari's rocky fortress led,Gnashing his teeth with inward fury, thatCould find no other vent, he cried aloud:"I have not come, to fight for thy mean gold,But I will have revenge for him who fellBefore my very eyes,--slain by thy hand."But with unruffled calm Waltari spoke,"If mine the fault of that, which caus'd the deathOf him thou call'st thy uncle,--may I fallPierc'd to the heart by thy own lance or sword."Scarce had he ended, when in hasty speed,That work'd its own destruction, ScaramundHad thrown his lances both; and one was caught,By Walter's shield, whilst far beyond the mark,The second in some mighty oak stuck fast.With naked sword, in blind and furious wrath,He then bore down upon his enemy,To split his head with one resounding blow,Which made the sparks flash forth indignantly,--But could not pierce Waltari's cap of steel;A very masterpiece of workmanship.Before the echo of this mighty blowHad died away, Waltari's spear had thrownThe rider to the ground; and though he ask'd,For mercy, 'twas too late; for with one cutHis head was sever'd from his trunk, and thusHe shar'd the doom, that he could not revenge;And with his uncle, shar'd an early grave."Forwards!" was Gunther's cry, "and don't desist,Before the worn out man shall render upBoth life and gold!"--Then Werinhard rode forth,To try his chance against yon fearful man.He was no friend of lances;--all his skillLay in his bow,--and from the distance heSent many an arrow 'gainst his stalwart foe.Buthe, well cover'd by his massive shieldTook ample care, not to expose himself;So that, before Sir Werinhard came near,His quiver had been emptied, all in vain;And full of anger at this first defeatHe now rush'd forward with his naked sword."And if my arrows are too light for thee,Then let me see what this my sword will do!""Long have I waited here impatiently,For thy approach," Waltari made reply,And like a flash of lightning his good spearFlew through the air, the harbinger of death;Missing Sir Werinhard, it hit the horse,Which rearing backwards in its agonyThrew off its rider, and then fell on him,And ere Sir Werinhard could raise himself,Waltari's hand had seiz'd his yellow locks;Stern and relentlessly he did the sameFor him as for the others, and his headFell to the ground, where his companions layBut Gunther still was loth to quit the fight,So, as fourth combatant, came EkkefriedHe who had slain the duke of SaxonyAnd liv'd an outlaw since, at Gunther's court.Proudly he sat upon his red roan steed;And ere for serious fight he did prepare,With taunting word and mocking speech he tried,To rouse Waltari from his outward calm."Say, art thou human, or some imp of hellWho with his magic tricks, by demons taught,Has thrown and vanquish'd better men than he?But now, believe me they will be aveng'd!"But he, with a contemptuous laugh replied:"Forsooth I know the meaning of such stuff,And am not frightened by thy idle boasts.Come on, and I will teach thee my dark tricks,And prove my being master of my art!""I will not keep thee waiting,--so beware!"And with these words, the Saxon Ekkefried,With dext'rous hand, his iron spear did throw,Which striking 'gainst Waltari's shield was brokeTo pieces, like some wand of brittle glass.And with another laugh, Waltari cried:"Take back thy present, and I warrant theeThou'lt find the goblin knows to hit the mark!"--A moment later, and his fearful spear,Cleaving the shield, had pierc'd unto the heartOf Ekkefried, granting a speedy death.And as his lawful prize Waltari ledHis goodly horse away unto the spotWhere Hildgund' still was watching anxiously.The fifth who came to undertake the fight,Hadwart by name, had only brought his sword,With which he hoped to kill this dreadful foe.And to the king, he said before he went:"If this my sword, should be victorious,I prithee, let we have Waltari's shield!"Spurring his horse, he rode unto the spot,Where the dead corpses lay blocking the path;So, jumping to the ground, he cried aloud:"Come out then from thy corner, thou sly rogue,Who like a false envenom'd snake dost lieIn ambush, hoping thus to save thy life,Which I am come to take with my good sword.And as thy dainty, many-colour'd shieldWill be my booty, I command thee now,To lay it down, lest it might damag'd be.And if it were decreed that I should fall,Thou never wilt escape with thy base life;As my companions will avenge my death."With calm composure, Walter, thus replied:"Indeed, I would not want my trusty shield,Which more than once to-day has sav'd my life.Without that shield, I should not now stand here.""Then wait, and see me take it!" Hadwart cried,"Thy steed, and aye, thy rose-cheek'd damsel too,Will soon be mine! Come out then, my brave sword!"Then there began a fighting, as the like,Had ne'er been seen before in yonder wood;So that with wonder and amazement thoseFranconians stood, and looked on the while.At last, to end the combat with one stroke,Hadwart dealt such a blow, as must have fell'd,Waltari to the ground, if with his spearsThe blow he had not parried, and anonHe wrench'd the weapon out of Hadwart's handAnd threw it far away over his head.In ignominious flight Sir Hadwart thenTried hard to save his life, but Alphers' son,With swifter feet did follow on his heels;"Stop yet a while, thou hast forgot thy shield!"And with these words, he rais'd the iron lance;And struck it through Sir Hadwart's corselet, soThat as he fell, he pinn'd him to the ground.The sixth who volunteer'd his chance to takeWas Hagen's nephew, young Sir Patavid.On seeing him prepar'd to meet his doom,His uncle feeling pity with the lad,With persuasive speech tried hard to turnHis daring fancy from this bold endeavour,"Oh, nephew, see how death is lurking there,And do not waste your fresh and youthful lifeAgainst yon man, whom you will conquer not."But Patavid not heeding this advice,Fearlessly went, spurr'd by ambitious pride.With mournful heart Sir Hagen sat apart,And heaving a deep sigh he spoke these words:"Oh ever greedy youth! oh baneful thirst of gold,I wish that hell would gather all her golden dross,And set the dragons to watch over it,Instead of tempting wretched human soulsInto perdition. There's none has got enough,And to gain more, they risk their very livesAnd souls into the bargain. Wretched fools!That dig and toil and scrape, and do not seeThat they are often digging their own grave,Beside which death stands grinning. Say, what newsShall I take back to greet thy mother's ears,And thy poor wife, who waits for thy return?"And as he thought of her despairing grief,A solitary tear would trickle down:"Farewell, farewell for ever, nephew mine!"He cried in broken accents, which the windsDid carry off unto Waltari's ear,Whose heart was touch'd by his old friend's complaint,And thus address'd the bold, tho' youthful knight:"I warn thee, my brave lad, to spare thy strength,For other deeds and not to risk the fate,Of those who came before thee,--stalwart knights,For I should grieve to lay thee by their side.""My death does not regard thee; come and fight,Forsooth, I did not come for idle talk,"--Was Patavid's reply, and as he spoke,His whizzing spear came flying through the air.But by Waltari's own 'twas beaten off,With such a mighty stroke, that e'en before the feet,Of fair Hildgund it fell, close by the cave.A cry of fear escapèd from her lips.Then, from her rock, she anxiously look'd forthTo see whether her knight still kept the ground,Another time he rais'd his warning voiceBidding his enemy desist from further fight,Who, heedless of these words, still forward press'dWith nakèd sword in hand, hoping to fellWaltari with one strong and dext'rous blow.But he, bent down his head, so that the swordNot meeting with resistance, cut the airAnd draggèd him who held it to the ground;And ere that he could rise, Waltari's swordHad dealt the death-blow with unsparing hand.Quick to avenge his friend, Sir Gerwig nowDid spur his noble steed, which with one boundJump'd o'er the bodies that block'd up the way.And ere Waltari yet could free his sword,From his last foe, Sir Gerwig's battle-axe--The fav'rite weapon of Franconians thenFlew through the air, a fearful sight to see.Quicker than thought Waltari seiz'd his shieldTo guard himself,--and with one backward boundTook up his trusty lance, and thus prepar'd,Unflinching stood, awaiting the attack.No single word was said on either side;Each thirsted for the fight with hungry soul;One to avenge the death of his dear friend,The other to defend his life and gold,And her he valued more, far more than both.Full long they fought with unrelenting zealA well-match'd pair, until Waltari's lanceLifting the shield of his antagonist,Did find its way into his corsèlet;And with a hollow groan he reelèd backExpiring on the spot where he fell down.With fear and wonder, the Franconians saw,Waltari's prowess, and their friend's defeat;So that at last they all besought the kingTo cease from further fight; but he replied:"Ah well, indeed, I never would have thoughtTo find such weak and craven-hearted menAmongst my knights that I deem'd brave before.What! does misfortune make your spirits fail,Instead of raising them to boiling heat?And do you mean to say we should returnConquer'd and beaten by one single man?Nay, if before I only wish'd to haveThe stranger's gold, I now will have his life!The blood which he has shed, does cry for blood!"He ceas'd and at his words, new courage fill'dThe hearts of his brave knights, so that now eachWould be the first to try the bloody game,And in a file they now rode up the path.Meanwhile, Waltari there to cool his brow,Had ta'en his helmet off, and hung it upOn the strong branch of a tall stately oak;And as the fragrant breezes cool'd his browHe felt new strength and vigour in his limbs,But while he thus stood breathing the fresh air,Sir Randolf on his fiery steed advanc'dAnd came upon him with such sudden speed,That with his iron bar quite unawaresHe would have pierc'd Waltari where he stoodIf that the armour which did shield his breast,Had not been forg'd by Weland's dext'rous hands,And thus resisted Randolf's fierce assault.Not having time to don his cap of steel,He seiz'd his shield as Randolf rais'd his sword,And dealt a cut, which, grazing Walter's head,Cut off some locks of his abundant hair.The second blow now struck against the edgeOf Walter's shield, with such fierce vehemenceThat it stuck fast, and ere that he could wrenchIt from this prison-hold, Waltari's handHad dragg'd him from the saddle to the ground,"Ha!" cried he, "thou shalt pay for my shorn locks,With thine own pate!" and as he said the words,Sir Randolf's head lay bleeding on the ground.The ninth who now rode up in furious hasteWas Helmnod, bearing neither sword nor lance,But on a long and twisted cord insteadA heavy trident set with many spikes.And in the rear, his friends held the one end,Of the strong rope, hoping, that when the spikesHad taken hold of Walter's shield, to dragHim to the ground with their united force."Take care of thy bald head!" Sir Helmnod cried,"For death is coming towards thee from above!"And as he spoke, he threw the curious armsWith practis'd hands,--nor did he miss the aim.Right in the middle of Waltari's shieldIt fix'd its iron claws, and a loud cryOf joyous exultation fill'd the air,As this success was noted by the restWho now, e'en aided by the king himself,Pull'd hard with all their might,--yet 'twas in vainFor like some giant-oak he kept the groundUntil, wearied at last with such vain sport,He suddenly let go his faithful shield.So, trusting merely on his coat of mailAnd his own sword, he madly rush'd alongAnd with one fearful blow, he split the headAnd neck of Helmnod, through his cap of steel.Before Sir Trogus yet could free himselfFrom the entangling rope that held him fast,To fetch his arms which all had laid asideNot to be cumber'd, as they pull'd the rope,Waltari with one slash of his fierce swordHad lam'd him on both legs, and ta'en his shield,Before Sir Trogus could stretch out his handWith which he now took up a mighty stoneAnd hurl'd it with such vigour through the air,That it did break his own strong shield in twain.Then, crawling onwards through the shelt'ring grass.Sir Trogus stealthily regain'd his sword,Which joyfully he rais'd above his head.His hero's heart still long'd to die in fightAnd so he cried aloud: "oh, that a friendWere near to help me, or my trusty shieldHad not been robb'd! I tell thee, haughty knight,Not thine own bravery, but want of chanceHas conquer'd me. Come on and take my sword!""Thy wish shall be fulfill'd!" Waltari cried,And quick as lightning he flew down the path,Cut off the hand that vainly rais'd the sword,So that it fell, a useless member nowUnto the ground. But ere the final blowWhich was to end his soul's captivity,He yet had dealt, Sir Tannast gallop'd down,To help his friend in this dread hour of need.Full angrily Waltari turnèd round,And with a ghastly wound beneath his armSir Tannast fell, bleeding beside his friend;And murmuring, "farewell, beloved maid!"He breath'd his last, and with a smile he died.Full of despair, Sir Trogus rais'd his voiceTo heap such bitter words and sharp insultsUpon Waltari's head, that he, inflam'dWith angry rage, to stop his sland'rous tongueNow throttled him with his own chain of gold.When all his knights had thus been slain, the kingIn bitter sorrow fled unto the spot,Where Hagen sat in gloomy solitude;And shedding scalding tears of rage and grief,He tried to touch his heart with subtle speechAnd thus to rouse him from his apathy.But cold as ice Sir Hagen made reply:"Full well thou know'st, oh king, that the pale blood,Which from my fathers I inheritedWhose craven hearts would shrink with coward fearWhen they but heard of war, does hinder meTo fight with yonder man. 'Tis thy own speechWhich now does lame my arm. I cannot fight."Again the king tried to appease his wrathHumbling himself, by asking pardon now,And promising that if he would but fight,He would reward him amply, ending thus:"Indeed, I never shall survive the day,On which the burning shame will be reveal'd,When in the streets and high-roads 'twill be said,'One single man did kill a host of knightsAnd there was none who would avenge the deed!'"Still Hagen hesitated, thinking howWaltari once had been his bosom-friend,His brother almost,--but when now at lastHis king and master fell upon his knees,And with uplifted hands besought his help,Then the ice melted which had bound his heartIn chains of pride and hatred, and he felt,That if he still refus'd, his honour wouldFor ever be defil'd, and so he spoke:"Whate'er thou biddest me to do, my king,It shall be done, and what no bribe on earthCould have obtained, the faith I owe to thee,Has now accomplish'd;--but before I tryMy sword and strength against my quondam friend,I fain would find some way to drive him fromHis present stronghold, which does make his strength.For, whilst he keeps that place, 'tis certain deathTo come but near him. Ah, believe me king,That never even to avenge the deathOf my fair nephew, would I raise my handAgainst my well-tried friend. Only for thee,To save thee from the shame of this defeat,I sacrifice my friendship. Let us hence,So that, imagining that we were gone,He too will ride away, suspecting naught;And in the open field, quite unprepar'd,We will attack him; and I warn thee thatThe fight will not be easy, even so."This cunning plan did please the king so well,That he embrac'd Sir Hagen on the spot,And then they went away to hide themselves,Leaving their horses grazing in the woods.The sun had disappear'd behind the hillsAnd now our hero, wearied from the fight,Stood there, revolving in his inmost heart,Whether 'twere best, to rest and pass the night--In his good stronghold, or to hurry on,And find his way out of this wilderness.His soul misgave him when he saw the kingKissing Sir Hagen, with exulting mien.Yet, after he had thought of this and that,He made resolve 'twere better to remain,So that it were not said that he had fled,Like some base criminal at fall of night.So, cutting down from the surrounding treesAnd thorny brambles many a branch and bough,He made himself a strong and solid hedge,To guard him 'gainst an unforeseen attack--With deep-drawn sighs he then walk'd to the spot,Where all the corpses lay, his hand had fell'd,And putting back each head unto its trunk,He threw himself down on his knees and prayed:"Oh Lord of hosts, whom all the world obeys,Without whose holy will, nothing is done,I thank Thee, that to-day Thou wert with meHelping me to defeat mine enemies,Who thirsted all to drink my guiltless blood.Oh Lord whose mighty word destroyeth sin,Yet taketh pity on us sinners all,I pray Thee now to show Thy mercy rare,On these my hand has slain, so that their souls,May enter all into Thy paradise,And I may meet them there, when my day comes."Thus Walter pray'd; then, rising from the ground,He went to fetch the horses of the dead,And tied them all together with a cordMade of some willow branches, growing near.Then, taking off his armour, he lay downUpon his shield, to rest his weary limbs;And speaking tender words unto Hildgund,He bade her watch his slumbers as before,For much he needed some refreshing sleep.Thus all the night, the fair and faithful maidSat by his side, driving the sleep away,That tried to steal upon her unawares,By softly singing little bits of song.Before the dawn of day Waltari roseAnd telling her to sleep now in her turnHe paced the ground with calm and even steps,His lance in hand, ready for an attack.And thus the night wore on, and morning came;A soft, refreshing mist fell down as dewHanging in pearly drops on grass and trees.Then, from the corpses with all rev'rent careWaltari took the armours, sword and all,Leaving their costly dresses though, untouch'd.Four of the chargers then were laden withHis rightful booty, whilst the other twoWere destin'd for himself and his fair bride.Yet ere they started, mounting on a tree,Waltari with his falcon-eyes survey'dThe scenery around, but seeing noughtWhich might have rous'd suspicion, he resolv'dTo wait no more, and thus they now rode forth,Hildgunde, with the booty-laden steedsRiding ahead, whilst Walter clos'd the train.Scarce were they gone when Hildgund looking back,Beheld two stalwart knights approaching fast,And paling with dismay, she cried aloud:"Oh dear my Lord! The end is coming nowI pray thee fly, and save thy precious life!"Turning his head, Waltari saw the foeAnd said with tranquil mien: "no man shall say,Waltari fled, whilst he could wield the sword!Here, take the reins of King Attila's horseAnd save the golden treasure. Yonder woodWill give thee shelter, whilst I will accostThe strangers thus, as it becomes a knight."The maiden tremblingly obey'd his words,Whilst he prepar'd his trusty lance and shield.Yet from a distance, Gunther called out:"Now thou no more canst hide between the rocks,Stand still and let us see, whether the end,Will not reveal another countenance!And whether fortune is thy hired maid!"But with contemptuous mien, Waltari turn'dHis head away, as if he had not heardAnd looking full in Hagen's face, he said:"Oh Hagen, my old friend, what has occurr'd,That as an enemy you come to me?Hast thou forgot the tears which thou hast shedWhen lying in my arms for the last time,--That thus thou treatest me, thy faithful friend?Indeed, I thought the day that we should meet,Would be a joyous one for thee and me,And that with open arms, and loving wordsThou wouldst accost me. Oh, how oft my heartWould beat with restless longing, when I thoughtOf thee, so far away, yet still my friend.Hast thou forgotten then our boyish days,When both did work and strive, for one great aim,Then, when I look'd into thine eyes I feltAs if my parents and my home were near,As if I were not quite forsaken yet.And so I kept my love and faith for theeAnd, therefore, pray thee to depart in peaceAnd as a friendly gift I'll fill thy shieldWith gold and jewels even to the brim."But with a sombre look and angry voiceSir Hagen to this speech now made reply."Indeed, I think, that thou didst break the faithWhen by thy cruel sword my nephew fell,His lifeand not thy gold I claim from thee,And will hear nought of friendship past and gone."Thus speaking he alighted from his horseAs likewise did Waltari, and the king;And so they stood prepar'd, two against one,Sir Hagen was the first to break the peaceAnd with an able hand he threw the spear,Which proudly pierc'd the air with hissing sound;But without deigning e'en to turn aside,Waltari stood extending his good shield,From which the lance rebounded with such forceAs if its point had struck against a wall of stone.Then Gunther threw his spear with good intentBut with such feeble arm, that it fell down,Scarce having touch'd the rim of Walter's shield.Their lances being gone, both drew the sword,And with it levell'd many a well-aim'd blowWhich all were parried by Waltari's lance.At last an evil thought struck Gunther's mind,And whilst Sir Hagen fiercely onward press'dHe stealthily bent down to seize his lance,But just when he had seized the oaken shaft,Waltari, throwing bold Sir Hagen back,Did place his foot on the coveted spear.Full of dismay, the king stood there aghastNot moving hand or foot, so that his lifeWas sore endanger'd, when Sir Hagen sprangWith deerlike swiftness forwards, shielding him,So that recovering by slow degreesHe once again could join in the attack,That wagèd fiercer now than e'er before;Yet still Waltari stood like some strong rock,Unmov'd and calm amidst the breakers roar.But from his eyes shot forth such scathing looks,And on his brow, in triple sisterhood,Sat fury, hatred and the fierce desireTo die or gain the bloody victory.At last, to Hagen he address'd these words:"Oh hawthorn tree,[3]I do not fear thy prick!And let thy vaunted strength be, what it may,I mean to wrestle with thee." At these words,He hurl'd his lance with such unerring aimThat part of Hagen's armour was torn off.Then turning suddenly to Gunther, heWith one astounding cut of his good sword,Did sever the right leg from Gunther's frame.Half dead, King Gunther fell upon his shieldBut when Waltari just had rais'd his arm,To deal the mortal blow, Sir Hagen sawThe peril of his king, and with one boundHe threw himself between, so that the swordFell on his helmet, with a clashing soundAnd then was shiver'd into sev'ral bits.With angry frown, Waltari threw the hiltContemptuously aside, for though of gold,What could it now avail him? Then he rais'dHis iron-pointed lance with careless handBut ere he yet had pois'd it, Hagen's swordCut off the hand, which to its enemiesHad been so fearful, and so far renown'd,--And now lay helpless on the bloody ground.Yet even then, Waltari's noble heartThought not of flight, but pressing back his pain,His left hand grasp'd the Hunnic scimitarWhich still was left him in this hour of need,And which aveng'd him, slashing Hagen's faceIn such a fearful way, that his right eyeBesides six teeth he lost by this one blow.Then both did drop their arms, and thus at lastThe bloody fight was ended. Both had shownTheir strength and valour in an equal way,And now did part with knightly courtesy.Then, sitting side by side, they staunch'd their woundsWith flowers, until Walter's ringing voiceHad brought the fair Hildgund unto their side,Who with her gentle hands then dress'd the wounds.As soon as this was done, Waltari said:"Now sweet my love, I prythee go and bringFor each a cup of wine, for verilyI think we have deserv'd it all to-day.First give the cup to Hagen, my old friend,Who, like a faithful vassal to his king,Has fought full valiantly in his behalf;Next give it me and then the king may drink,Who least has done, and therefore shall be last."The maiden doing as her lord had said,Stepp'd up to Hagen, who, though plagued with thirstRefus'd to drink, before Waltari's lipsHad been refreshèd by the cooling draught.And when the pangs of thirst had thus been still'dThe two, who just before had been dread foes,Now sat together, holding friendly talk,And jesting gaily as in days gone by."In future thou, my friend," Sir Hagen said,"Must wear a leathern glove, well stuff'd with wool,On thy right arm, to make the world believeThou still hadst got both hands at thy commands,And at thy right side thou must wear the sword;But worse than all, when thou wilt clasp thy brideWith thy left arm thou must embrace her then,--In fact all thou wilt do in future lifeMust awkward be,--left-handedas they say."Briskly Waltari to this jest replied:"Oh, stop thy railing, poor and one-eyed manFor with my left hand here, I yet may killThe boar and stag, which thou no more wilt eat;And in my fancy I can see thee look,On friends and foes and all the world awry!But for the sake of our youthful daysAnd ancient friendship, I will counsel thee,To bid thy nurse make porridge and milk-soupsWhen thou com'st home, such as befit thy stateOf toothless incapacity for other food."--Thus they renew'd the friendship of their youth,And after having rested, laid the kingWho suffer'd greatly, on his horse's back.And then the two Franconians slowly rodeTo Worms, from where the day before they cameIn all the pride of their exulting hearts,Meanwhile, Waltari and his gentle brideWent on to Aquitania, Walter's homeWhere they were both receiv'd with tears of joyBy his old father, who had long despair'dOf holding in his arms his son again,Who soon was wedded to fair Hildegund;And when his father died, for thirty yearsWaltari sway'd the sceptre, lov'd by all.

Oh, much beloved reader, if my songHas been but roughly chanted, I imploreThy kind forgiveness,--I did my best.Praisèd be Jesus Christ!--So ends Waltari's song.

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