Is there ever a singer among you, who singeth a sweeter songOf the favour and love of women, I hold not he does me wrong!Full fain am I still to hearken to aught that may give them joy,But to one alone among women my homage I still deny.Nay, ever the fire of my anger doth kindle and flame anew,5And the sorrow her treason wrought me, it grieveth me still I trow!I, whom men have named the singer, I, Wolfram of Eschenbach,The words that against a woman I spake, I may ne'er take back.Nay, I hold fast my wrath for ever, and clasp it closer still,As I think how in soul and body alike hath she wrought me ill!10How can I do aught but hate her, till death setteth seal on life?Yet it grieveth me sore that others should mingle in this our strife;It grieveth me sore that maidens should say, as they name my name,'Forsooth he hath shamed all women, let it be unto him for shame!'Nay, then, an they reckon for evil the words that in grief I spake,15I will speak them no more for ever, though my heart should in silence break!But let them beware in their anger, these warlike maidens fair,How they stir from his eyrie the eagle, rouse the lion from his lair!Full well I know how to defend me, full well know I what beseemsThe maid of a knight's devotion, the maid of the poet's dreams!20Let a maiden be steadfast-hearted, pure and true in word and deed,And her champion true she'll find me, comes there ever an hour of need.I hold his renown waxeth slowly, and halteth upon the road,Who, for wrong at the hand of one woman, shall slander all womanhood:But if any will look upon me, and hearken to what I sing,25Of a sooth I will not deceive them, though my tale over-strange may ring.Born was I unto the bearing of knightly shield and spear,And though sweet be the song of the singer, I hold it not all too dear:I had rather my love should love me for my deeds of high renown,Than because in the hall of the Wartburg they should crown me with music's crown!30With the shield and the spear of knighthood will I seek for a knight's reward,Nor charm, with the harp of the singer, what I failèd to win with the sword!Nor in praise of fair women only runs this tale that I have to tell,Full many strange deeds it holdeth, and marvels that once befellEre the course of this wondrous venture be tracèd unto its end;35Yet he who heareth shall reckon, if he fain would account me friend,That this is no book he readeth, for no maker of books am I!But a singer of strange adventures, and of knightly prowess high:Stripped bare will I be of all honour, naked and reft of fame,Ere I trust my renown unto letters, and give to a book my name!40It vexes me, soul and body, that so many should bear the nameAnd speak with the tongue of women, who reck not of woman's fame;That those who have known no falsehood, and those who are swift to fall,Should carry one name in common, be counted as sisters all!A truth that has faltered never, a faith that has aye withstood,45Is the only glory of woman, the crown of her womanhood!Many will say, 'What good thing can come out of poverty?'She who for love endures it, she 'scapeth Hell thereby,And, in the kingdom of Heaven, receiveth a hundredfoldFor all she has borne for love's sake, new joys for her sorrows old!50Not one have I known in my lifetime, I count it a bitter truth,Neither a man nor a maiden, who the joy and the pride of youth,And all earth's riches and honour, will leave as a worthless thingIf weighed with the glory of Heaven, and the service of Heaven's King!But Queen Herzeleide only, she left her fair estate,55In her youth of all joy bereavèd, with sorrow afar to mate.So holy was she and gentle, so faithful and pure of mind,That no tongue spake a word against her, and no eye a fault could find.Sunlight or shadow, what recked she? the day was to her as night,For her heart was the home of sorrow, and dead was the world's delight.60And in sorrow and grief she wandered, till she came to Soltanè's strand,A woodland wild and lonely afar from her native land:Fair flowers might bloom and blossom without, on the sunlit plain,And be woven in rosy chaplets, but for her they would bloom in vain!And there, mid the woodland shadows, she hid with Gamuret's son,65For she willed that her life's last treasure be revealed unto none:So she called her folk around her, (who toiled in the upland fieldWith oxen and plough, that the furrows their daily bread might yield,)And she charged them all, by the service which she as their queen might claim,That they hide from the boy his birthright and the fame of his father's name.70'For the knightly deeds ye vaunt of, and the glory and pride of war,Have wrought me but heart's affliction, and trouble and anguish sore,So, lest I yet more should suffer, I pray you, my servants dear,That ye speak no word of knighthood, lest my son perchance should hear!'Then full sore were her people grievèd, for they held it an evil thing,75And a training that ill beseemèd the son of a mighty king.But his mother kept him hidden in the woodland valleys wild,Nor thought in her love and sorrow how she wronged the kingly child:No knightly weapon she gave him, save such as in childish playHe wrought himself from the bushes that grew on his lonely way,80A bow and arrows he made him, and with these, in thoughtless glee,He shot at the birds as they carolled o'erhead in the leafy tree.But when the feathered songster of the woods at his feet lay dead,In wonder and dumb amazement he bowed down his golden head,And in childish wrath and sorrow tore the locks of his sunny hair;85(For I wot well of all earth's children was never a child so fairAs this boy, who afar in the desert from the haunts of mankind did dwell,Who bathed in the mountain streamlet, and roamed o'er the rock-strewn fell!)Then he thought him well how the music, which his hand had for ever stilled,Had thrilled his soul with its sweetness, and his heart was with sorrow filled,90And the ready tears of childhood flowed forth from their fountains freeAs he ran to his mother weeping, and bowed him beside her knee.'What aileth thee child?' quoth the mother, 'but now wast thou gay and glad'—But, childlike, he gave no answer, scarce wist he what made him sad!But Queen Herzeleide watched him through the sunny summer days,95Till beneath a tree she saw him stand silent, with upturned gaze,And a look of joyful rapture in the radiant childish eyes,As he listed the bird, that, soaring, sang clear thro' the cloudless skies;And the mother's heart was troubled, and her wrath waxed to fever heat,She would brook in his love no rival—not even God's singers sweet!100So she sent forth in haste her servants, with many a cunning snareTo capture the singers whose music made joyful the woodlands fair.Then, alas! for the birds, who struggled in the cruel snare in vain,Yet some few burst their bonds, and joyful, brake forth into song again!Then the boy spake,'Now sweet my mother, why trouble the birds so sore?105Forsooth they can ne'er have harmed thee, ah, leave them in peace once more!'And his mother kissed him gently, 'Perchance I have wrought a wrong,Of a truth, the dear God who made them, He gave unto them their song,And I would not that one of his creatures should sorrow because of me.'But the boy looked up in wonder, 'God, Mother? Who may God be?'110'My son, He is light beyond all light, brighter than summer's day,And He bare a Man's Face, that we men might look on His Face alway!Art thou ever in need of succour? call on Him in thine hour of ill,And be sure He will fail thee never, but will hear thee, and help thee still.Yet one there is dwelleth in darkness, and I wot men may fear him well,115For his home is the house of falsehood, and his kingdom the realm of Hell!Turn thy mind away from him ever, nor waver betwixt the twain,For he who doubteth, his labour shall ever be wrought in vain.'Thus his mother read him the riddle, the myst'ry of day and night,The dread and the doom of darkness, and the glory and grace of light!120Then javelin in hand he hastened thro' the forest pathways wild,And the deer sprang up from their thickets, and fled from the dauntless child;But clear-eyed and eager-footed he hastened upon their track,And full oft with a hornèd trophy, at even he hied him back.Little cared he for rain or sunshine, summer's storm or winter's snow,125And daily in strength and beauty all men might behold him grow;Till at length no beast so mighty thro' the forest wild did roam,If it fell 'neath his shaft, unaided, on his shoulder he bore it home!It chanced thro' a woodland thicket one morn as he took his way,And brake from o'erhanging bushes full many a leafy spray,130That a pathway steep and winding rose sharply his track anear,And the distant beat of horse-hoofs fell strange on his wondering ear.Then the boy grasped his javelin firmly and thought what the sound might be;'Perchance 'tis the devil cometh! Well, I care not if it be he!Methinks I can still withstand him, be he never so fierce and grim,135Of a truth my lady mother she is o'er-much afraid ofhim!As he stood there for combat ready, behold, in the morning light,Three knights rode into the clearing, in glittering armour bright;From head to foot were they armèd, each one on his gallant steed,And the lad as he saw their glory thought each one a god indeed!140No longer he stood defiant, but knelt low upon his knee,And cried, 'God, Who helpest all men, I pray Thee have thought for me!'Then wroth was the foremost rider as the lad barred his further way,And he spake out, 'This stupidWaleiswill hinder our work to-day!'(Now here would I give to the Waleis the fame we Bavarians hold;145They are duller than e'en our people, yet manly in strife and bold.And in sooth were one born in both countries such marvel of strength and skillWould he hide in himself that I think me their fame he might well fulfil!)Then there rode swift with hanging bridle, in costly harness dight,With plumed and jewelled helmet another gallant knight;150Swiftly he came as thirsting to challenge in mortal fightThe foe who sped far before him, who had done him a sore despite;For two knights from out his kingdom a maiden had borne away,And he held it a deed most shameful and one he must needs repay;For the maiden's sorrow grieved him, and fain would he ease her pain:155(And the three knights who rode before him were part of his warlike train.)He rode a Spanish war-horse, and his shield had fierce conflict seen,And Karnachkarnanz did they call him (he was Ulterleg's count I ween).Then he cried to his knights, 'Why loiter? who barreth our onward way?'And straight on the lad did he ride there, who deemed him a god alway,160For ne'er had he seen such glory; his harness shone fair with dew,And on either foot the stirrups with golden bells rang true.And their length was e'en as fitting, and with bells did each strong arm ring,As he stirred himself, or his sword-blade in battle aloft would swing.And the hero was swift in seeking the guerdon of knightly prize,165So he rode here, the prince, and had decked him in a fair and wondrous wise.Then spake this flower of all knighthood, 'Say, boy, did they pass thy way?Two knights who have shamed their knighthood, nay,robbersI ween are they,For they bear a maiden with them, and she rideth against her will!'Yet the boy, tho' he spake with a man's tongue, as a god must account him still;170For he thought how Queen Herzeleide had told him that God was LightAnd dwelleth in Light for ever; and so to his dazzled sightThis knight, in his shining armour in the glow of the summer's day,Was the God of his mother's lesson, and he knelt him again to pray.But the prince he spake full gently, 'Fain am I to do God's will,175And yet for no God I hold me, but a sinful mortal still.Nay, wert thou more clear of vision, thou wouldst see, an thou sawest aright,No Lord of the host of Heaven, but only a humble knight!''Knight?' quoth the boy in answer, 'Nay! I wot not what that may be,Is thy strength not of God, but of knighthood, then I would such were given to me!'180'Then wend thy way to King Arthur, an thou camest unto his court,A noble knight he would make thee, ashamed and afeared for naught,For sure, now I look upon thee, thou com'st of a noble strain.'Then his knights they turned their bridles, and gazed at the boy again.Full well might they look and wonder, at the work that God's Hand had wrought,185For they say, who tell this story, that never could human thoughtHave dreamed of aught so goodly, since ever the world began,For of all men beloved by women, was there never so fair a man!Loud they laughed as the boy spake further, 'Good knight, what may these be?These rings that so close around thee, above and below I see.'190Then he handled, with curious finger, the armour the knight did bear,His coat of mail close-linkèd as behovèd a knight to wear;And he spake as he looked on the harness, 'My mother's maidens stringOn their chains, and around their fingers, full many a shining ring,But they cling not so close to each other as these rings that here I see,195I cannot force them asunder, what good are they then to thee?'Then the prince drew forth from its scabbard his shining blade so keen,'Now see, he who fights against me, must withstand my sword I ween,And lest he, on his part, should slay me, it is fit that with mail and shield,I ward me against his spear-thrusts, and the blows that his arm may wield.'200Swiftly the lad made answer, 'Little good would it do the deerAn their coats were e'en such as thine is, they would fall still beneath my spear.'Full wroth were the knights and scornful that their lord thus long had talkedWith this lad with the face of an angel, and the speech as of one distraught;Then the prince he spake full gently, 'God keep thee in His good grace,205I would that my shield's bright mirror might show me as fair a face!Nay, an the Giver of all gifts but gave thee wit enowTo match with a mien so goodly, full rich wert thou then I trow!May He keep all sorrow from thee, and thy life be a summer's day—'And with that he turned his bridle, and wended once more his way.210Then adown the woodland pathway they rode, till they came full soonWhere the carles of Queen Herzeleide toiled hard thro' the sultry noon:The fields must they plough and harrow, if a harvest they hoped to reap,So they goaded the patient oxen to their toil on the hillside steep.Then the prince he gave them 'Good-morrow,' and asked if there passed that way215A maiden in need and sorrow? and they dared not to say him nay;But they answered him e'en as he prayed them, and they spake 'Yea, at early mornTwo knights and a maiden passed here, and the maiden, she wept forlorn,And the knights as they rode beside her, spurred ever her flying steed.'Then the prince knew his foe, Meljakanz, and his wrath waxed hot indeed,220On his tracks he followed swiftly, and they who this venture tell,Say he won back in fight the maiden ere the shadows of evening fell.But sore were the queen's folk troubled that the heroes had chanced that way,And they spake, 'God forbid that our queen's son fall in with these knights to-day!An he chances to light upon them in the pride of their warlike gear,225It will anger full sore our mistress if by hap she the tale should hear:And ill-luck will it bring upon us that, ere ever the dawn of day,With us while his mother slumbered, to the woods he stole away!'Little recked the boy of their trouble as he chased the flying deer,And shouted in youthful gladness, as they fell before his spear230Then homeward he sped to his mother, but ere he his tale might tellShe was smitten with deadly terror, and low at his feet she fell.Then soon as Queen Herzeleide found hearing and speech once moreHer boy was she fain to question tho' her heart it misgave her sore;'Who spake to thee, son, of knighthood? What knowest thou of such-like rede?'235'I met in the woods, sweet mother, four men I deemed gods indeed,So light were they all and shining, God Himself ne'er could brighter be,And of knighthood they spake and King Arthur, who might well make a knight of me!'Then her sorrow of old-time wakened, and the queen in her heart she soughtFor some cunning wile of woman, that her boy from his will be brought.240When the simple lad and gallant would crave from her hand a steed,Tho' heavy her heart, she bethought her in naught to gainsay his need,'Yet not as he asks will I give him, no mother's gifts be mine,But ever the worst and the meanest that my skill may aye divine.'And she thought her, Queen Herzeleide, 'Many folk thro' the world shall fare245Who love mocking—On his fair body my son shall a Fool's dress wear,Then sure when the mockers see him, and to scoff at his garb are fain,An he at their hands be smitten, then he cometh to me again!'Alas! for a woman's cunning, and the cruelty of mother's love,She chose from her stores a sackcloth, the coarsest that might be wove,250And a garment of this she made him that should reach e'en unto his knee;For his sunny hair such covering as on fools men are wont to see;And instead of hose she bound him on his limbs so strong and fairLeggings of undressed calf-skin—And all wept who beheld him there.Then his mother with forethought bade him to tarry till morning light,255'Nor from hence would I have thee journey till my rede thou hast heard aright—'Keep thou ever from paths untrodden and ford not the darkling stream,Where the waters flow clear and limpid, there safe is the ford I ween.And be ever fair and courteous, greet all men who pass thy way.If a wise man old and grey-headed would teach thee, as well he may,260All courteous ways and fitting, as his word so shall be thy deed,Nor wax wroth if by whiles he chide thee, but give to my words good heed.And one thing, my son, would I tell thee, canst thou win from a maid her ringAnd her greeting fair, thou shalt take them, and sorrow hath lost her sting!If a kiss from her lips she will give thee, and thine arms shall the maid enfold,265Be she pure and true thou art blessèd, and thy strength shall wax high and bold!''And hearken my son, a proud knight, Lähelein, do men call his name,From thy princes two lands hath wrested, else from them couldst thou tribute claim.And Waleis they are and Norgals—and one of thy princes brave,Turkentals, hath he slain, and thy people he hath smitten and doth enslave.'270'For such wrong will I vengeance, mother, if vengeance be here God's will,Be he never so strong with my javelin I think me to wound him still.'Then e'en at the daylight's dawning the boy would no longer stay,For the thought of King Arthur's glory yet heavy upon him lay.Then Queen Herzeleide kissed him, and she sped swift his steed behind,275And the sorrow of sorrows smote her when her boy she no more might find.(Hence he rode and what heart rejoiceth?) Then the queen from all falsehood free,Fell low on the earth, and grief tare her till death must her portion be!Yet I wot that her death so faithful it hath saved her from pains of Hell,And to be of such son the mother, it repayeth all anguish well!280Thus she, the root of all goodness whence humility's flower might blow,Herself on a pilgrimage wended that a goodly goal should know.Woe worth us! that none of their children should live still, to hand us downIn these days when we look on falsehood their honour and fair renown.And therefore shall faithful women wish well to this lad so bold,285Who rideth fair ventures seeking, whose journey ye now behold!Then the gallant lad rode onward on his way toward Briziljan's wood,And he came to a rippling streamlet, and a cock well might wade that flood!And flowers in the grass were blooming, yet so darkling ran the waveThat the lad he thought not to ford it; but as wit the counsel gave,290So he followed its course thro' the daylight, and he passed as he could the night,Till he saw once more the morning, and he came to a fair ford bright.On the further side was a meadow, and a tent decked the grass so green,And tall was the tent wide-spreading, and riches thereon were seen;'Twas of samite of threefold colours, on the seams lay fair ribbons wide,295And a leathern covering hung there, 'gainst the rain-cloud to guard its pride.('Twas Duke Orilus of Lalande, whose wife he beneath it found—She lay there in peaceful slumber with riches happed fair around,A Duchess she was, well worthy the love of a gallant knight,And the venture it tells that Jeschuté was the name of that lady bright)300Softly the princess slumbered,—yet weapons of love she bore;A mouth so red and glowing, that a knight's heart had wounded sore,And e'en as she slept they parted asunder, her lips so bright,That the fire of love had kindled, (fit venture for gallant knight)And even as ivory snow-white, and little, and close the row305Of the teeth that gleamed white betwixt them—methinks that a man were slowTo use himself to such kisses from a mouth that all men might praise—I wot that so fair a guerdon but seldom hath crowned my days!A covering of richest sable over foot and knee was thrown,(For the heat she aside hath cast it, whom her lord had thus left alone)310And her form it was fairly fashioned, and wrought by a skilful hand,Since 'twas God Himself in His wisdom who so fair a work had planned.And long was her arm and rounded: on her snow-white hand a ringGleamed golden, and when he saw it the lad to her side did spring;For had not his mother told him such jewels were the guerdon fair315That a knight well might crave? and he thought him he fain would such token bear!Then the lady awoke in terror as his clasp on her white arm fell,And gazed in startled wonder and wrath as beseemed her well;'Who is it, who thus would shame me? Nay, sir, thou art all too free!Go, choose thee some fairer maiden, my favours are not for thee!'320In vain might she weep and bewail her; he asked not her yea, or nay,But took from her lips unwilling the kiss she would fain gainsay;And the ring of gold from her finger with ungentle hand he'ld take,And the clasp that her shift had fastened from the garment he roughly brake:In vain were her tears and struggles, she was but a woman still,325And his strength was to hers as an army, perforce must she do his will.Then the lad spake aloud, he hungered, from his hand was the lady free,And she quoth, 'Of a truth 'twere better thou shouldst not make meal of me!If thou wert but a little wiser thou wouldst choose thee some other meat,There stand bread and wine, and two game-birds, of them mayst thou freely eat,330Methinks when my maiden brought them, 'twas scarcely of thee she thought!'Then he asked not where sat the hostess, but he ate e'en as hunger taught,And he drank his fill; and the lady she deemed all too long his stay,For she thought him bereft of his senses, and she wished he were well away,And for fear and shame the sweat-drops stood thickly upon her brow—335And she spake, 'Thou my ring shalt give me, and the clasp thou didst take but now,And get thee away, if he cometh, my husband, then shalt thou bearThe weight of his wrath, and I think me thou wouldst then wish thyself elsewhere!'Quoth the noble youth, 'What care I how fierce thy lord's wrath may be?If my presence doth shame thine honour, then from hence will I swiftly flee.'340And he stepped to the bedside boldly, and kissed her as there she lay,Tho' little it pleased the Duchess, and without leave he rode away;And he spake a word of parting as he vaulted upon his steed,'God have thee in His safe keeping, so my mother she gave me rede.'Then the lad he was glad of his booty, and thus did he ride a while—345Methinks there was little lacking that from hence he had gone a mile,Ere he came of whom I would tell you: on the dew he the tracks might seeOf one who had sought his lady—The tent-ropes displaced should beWhere the lad thro' the grass had ridden; then the gallant Duke and proudFound his lady within in sorrow, and Orilus spake aloud,350'Alas! for the service done thee—for smitten and put to shameIs the crown of my knightly honour, since another thy love can claim!'Then little, alas! might it profit that with streaming eyes she sworeNo lover had she save her husband,—he would hearken her tale no more.Then she spake in her fear and anguish, 'Twas afool, he who came to me,355And yet tho' a fool, of all men I wot he may fairest be!My ring and my clasp gold-gleaming, he took them against my will!''Nay, I doubt not so well he pleased thee, thou didst grant him more favours still,''Now, God forbid! for his fool's garb and his javelin were e'en too near,It shameth us both, my husband, such words from thy lips to hear!360Arequeenswont to love thus lowly, that thou speakest such words of me?Thou wrongest our royal breeding, when thou deemest such things may be!'Then the Duke spake, 'This shame, O lady! alone hast thou won from me,Thou dost call thyselfQueenno longer; tho' thy title shallDuchessbeLittle good hath that bargain brought me—So bold shall my manhood be,365That thy brother, King Lac's son Erec, for that cause beareth hate to thee:He is wise, and right well he knoweth that my fame so high shall standThat nothing shall stain mine honour, save at Prurein when his right handIn knightly joust once felled me, but that have I paid right well,In a joust at Karnant I smote him, and behind his steed he fell,370And his pledge did he yield unto me,—thro' his shield I thy token bare,I thought not, my wife Jeschuté, withanotherthy love to share!''Thou mayst also well assure thee that the son of King Gandein,Proud Galoes, once lay lifeless before this arm of mine;And thou thyself wast witness when the Knight Plihopleheri375Rode swift in a joust against me, nor his strife it hath passed me by,My spear from the saddle thrust him that his charger he sat no more;Yea, great was the fame that I won me by my prowess in days of yore,Many knights have I borne from their chargers,—yet it profiteth not I ween,Nor outweigheth the bitter shaming that thro' thee hath my portion been!'380And with reason good do they hate me, those knights of the Table Round,Since eight of their bravest champions have I borne unto the ground,And many fair maidens saw it, when at Kanedig fierce we foughtFor the hawk; there was I the victor, and my hand fame to thee hath broughtAnd that didst thou see with King Arthur—At his court doth she dwell to-day,385My sister, sweet Kunnewaaré, and grave is her mien alway,For her lips may not move to laughter till the day that her eyes shall lightOn him who of all shall be reckoned the fairest and bravest knight.Would he come unto me, that hero! Ah! then should a strife be seenAs to-day in the early morning already my lot hath been.390I have fought, and a prince hath suffered, for joust he toward me sped,But my spear-point so sorely smote him that he lay there before me, dead!''Well I know that in righteous anger for a lesser sin than thineFull many had slain the sinner, but I would not such deed were mine!For the service of knightly honour that to thee I had offered fair,395Henceforth shalt thou know but lacking; nor thy need do I think to spare—No more with thy white arms circled in love and in peace I'll lie,Those golden days of love's glory have faded and passed us by,But pale be thy mouth so rosy, and tear-dimmed thy shining eyes,For joy shall be put far from thee, and thy heart's songs be turned to sighs!'400Then sadly she looked upon him, that princess so fair and true,'May it be for the honour of knighthood what seemeth thee best to do,Wise art thou indeed and loyal, and I in thy power may be,And I know well that heavy sorrow and pain thou canst bring on me:To the ordeal, I prithee, put me, and do this for all women's sake,405Thereafter, an I be guilty, for my sin do thou vengeance take!If another's hand shall slay me, (fortheewere such deed un-meet)Then gladly I'll die—Dost thou scorn me? then welcome is death, and sweet!'Then he broke out in bitter anger, 'If thy pride be still so great,It is meet I should meekness teach thee, tho' the lesson be all too late—410No more shall we be companions, together no more we'll eat;Be our marriage couch forgotten and the hours of communion sweet.This garment in which I found thee thy only robe shall be,And instead of jewelled bridle hempen twist will I give to thee;Thy steed be the guest of hunger, and thy saddle once decked so fair415Shall be robbed of its goodly trappings!' and with hasty hand he tareThe samite adown, and he brake it, the saddle she rode erewhile,(Nor her gentle ways and seemly might his angry wrath beguile)With a hempen cord he bound it—Too soon had she won his hate!As he did this he spake, 'Now Lady, 'tis best we no longer wait,420Could I reach him who shared thy favours, then fulfilled were my heart's desire,The venture I'ld face, though as dragon he were breathing forth flames and fire!'Then with weeping instead of laughter she passed from out the tentThat lady so rich in sorrow, and sadly her way she went;Yet more than she mourned her shaming she wept her lord's grief, I ween,425His sorrow so sorely moved her, e'en death would have lighter been.Now of true heart shall ye bemoan her who thus did sore anguish know,And tho' hatred I won from all women, still I'ld mourn for Jeschuté's woe!So rode they upon the traces of the lad who before them fled,And, dauntless, he little thought him how a foeman behind him sped,430But whoever his eyes might light on, as his pathway they drew anear,He gave to him kindly greeting, 'Thus bade me my mother dear!'Thus rode he, our lad so foolish, adown a mountain side,When a woman's voice before him from amid the rocks loud cried;'Twas a cry of heartfelt sorrow, for her joy was in ruins laid—435Then swift rode the lad towards her,—Now hear what she did, this maid:She tore, the maid Siguné, her plaits of long brown hairFrom out her head thro' sorrow; and the lad he beheld her there,And he saw Schionatulander, the prince, on her knee lie dead,And the maiden she wailed above him, and her joy had for ever fled.440('If sad be their mien or joyful, my mother she bade me stillGreet all men, whoe'er might meet me) God keep thee from greater ill,For in sooth a sorry treasure have I found on thy knee to-day!Who hath wounded this knight?' (For an answer the lad he would press alway)'Did one with a javelin slay him? For Lady, he sure is dead;445Wilt thou tell me naught? Who hath slain him? If he none too far hath fledMethinks I might overtake him, for gladly with him I'ld fight!'Then the lad he laid hold on his quiver wherein lay the javelins bright,And still in his hand tight claspèd, the tokens twain he boreWhich he in his thoughtless folly erewhile from Jeschuté tore.450Had he known the courtly customs with his father's life in-bound,His shield were better smitten when the duchess alone he foundWho thro' him must suffer sorrow—for more than a whole year long,Her husband withheld his favour, tho' in sooth did he do her wrong.
Is there ever a singer among you, who singeth a sweeter songOf the favour and love of women, I hold not he does me wrong!Full fain am I still to hearken to aught that may give them joy,But to one alone among women my homage I still deny.Nay, ever the fire of my anger doth kindle and flame anew,5And the sorrow her treason wrought me, it grieveth me still I trow!I, whom men have named the singer, I, Wolfram of Eschenbach,The words that against a woman I spake, I may ne'er take back.Nay, I hold fast my wrath for ever, and clasp it closer still,As I think how in soul and body alike hath she wrought me ill!10How can I do aught but hate her, till death setteth seal on life?Yet it grieveth me sore that others should mingle in this our strife;
It grieveth me sore that maidens should say, as they name my name,'Forsooth he hath shamed all women, let it be unto him for shame!'Nay, then, an they reckon for evil the words that in grief I spake,15I will speak them no more for ever, though my heart should in silence break!But let them beware in their anger, these warlike maidens fair,How they stir from his eyrie the eagle, rouse the lion from his lair!Full well I know how to defend me, full well know I what beseemsThe maid of a knight's devotion, the maid of the poet's dreams!20Let a maiden be steadfast-hearted, pure and true in word and deed,And her champion true she'll find me, comes there ever an hour of need.
I hold his renown waxeth slowly, and halteth upon the road,Who, for wrong at the hand of one woman, shall slander all womanhood:But if any will look upon me, and hearken to what I sing,25Of a sooth I will not deceive them, though my tale over-strange may ring.Born was I unto the bearing of knightly shield and spear,And though sweet be the song of the singer, I hold it not all too dear:I had rather my love should love me for my deeds of high renown,Than because in the hall of the Wartburg they should crown me with music's crown!30With the shield and the spear of knighthood will I seek for a knight's reward,Nor charm, with the harp of the singer, what I failèd to win with the sword!
Nor in praise of fair women only runs this tale that I have to tell,Full many strange deeds it holdeth, and marvels that once befellEre the course of this wondrous venture be tracèd unto its end;35Yet he who heareth shall reckon, if he fain would account me friend,That this is no book he readeth, for no maker of books am I!But a singer of strange adventures, and of knightly prowess high:Stripped bare will I be of all honour, naked and reft of fame,Ere I trust my renown unto letters, and give to a book my name!40
It vexes me, soul and body, that so many should bear the nameAnd speak with the tongue of women, who reck not of woman's fame;That those who have known no falsehood, and those who are swift to fall,Should carry one name in common, be counted as sisters all!A truth that has faltered never, a faith that has aye withstood,45Is the only glory of woman, the crown of her womanhood!
Many will say, 'What good thing can come out of poverty?'She who for love endures it, she 'scapeth Hell thereby,And, in the kingdom of Heaven, receiveth a hundredfoldFor all she has borne for love's sake, new joys for her sorrows old!50Not one have I known in my lifetime, I count it a bitter truth,Neither a man nor a maiden, who the joy and the pride of youth,And all earth's riches and honour, will leave as a worthless thingIf weighed with the glory of Heaven, and the service of Heaven's King!But Queen Herzeleide only, she left her fair estate,55In her youth of all joy bereavèd, with sorrow afar to mate.So holy was she and gentle, so faithful and pure of mind,That no tongue spake a word against her, and no eye a fault could find.Sunlight or shadow, what recked she? the day was to her as night,For her heart was the home of sorrow, and dead was the world's delight.60And in sorrow and grief she wandered, till she came to Soltanè's strand,A woodland wild and lonely afar from her native land:Fair flowers might bloom and blossom without, on the sunlit plain,And be woven in rosy chaplets, but for her they would bloom in vain!And there, mid the woodland shadows, she hid with Gamuret's son,65For she willed that her life's last treasure be revealed unto none:So she called her folk around her, (who toiled in the upland fieldWith oxen and plough, that the furrows their daily bread might yield,)And she charged them all, by the service which she as their queen might claim,That they hide from the boy his birthright and the fame of his father's name.70'For the knightly deeds ye vaunt of, and the glory and pride of war,Have wrought me but heart's affliction, and trouble and anguish sore,So, lest I yet more should suffer, I pray you, my servants dear,That ye speak no word of knighthood, lest my son perchance should hear!'
Then full sore were her people grievèd, for they held it an evil thing,75And a training that ill beseemèd the son of a mighty king.But his mother kept him hidden in the woodland valleys wild,Nor thought in her love and sorrow how she wronged the kingly child:No knightly weapon she gave him, save such as in childish playHe wrought himself from the bushes that grew on his lonely way,80A bow and arrows he made him, and with these, in thoughtless glee,He shot at the birds as they carolled o'erhead in the leafy tree.
But when the feathered songster of the woods at his feet lay dead,In wonder and dumb amazement he bowed down his golden head,And in childish wrath and sorrow tore the locks of his sunny hair;85(For I wot well of all earth's children was never a child so fairAs this boy, who afar in the desert from the haunts of mankind did dwell,Who bathed in the mountain streamlet, and roamed o'er the rock-strewn fell!)Then he thought him well how the music, which his hand had for ever stilled,Had thrilled his soul with its sweetness, and his heart was with sorrow filled,90And the ready tears of childhood flowed forth from their fountains freeAs he ran to his mother weeping, and bowed him beside her knee.'What aileth thee child?' quoth the mother, 'but now wast thou gay and glad'—But, childlike, he gave no answer, scarce wist he what made him sad!
But Queen Herzeleide watched him through the sunny summer days,95Till beneath a tree she saw him stand silent, with upturned gaze,And a look of joyful rapture in the radiant childish eyes,As he listed the bird, that, soaring, sang clear thro' the cloudless skies;And the mother's heart was troubled, and her wrath waxed to fever heat,She would brook in his love no rival—not even God's singers sweet!100So she sent forth in haste her servants, with many a cunning snareTo capture the singers whose music made joyful the woodlands fair.Then, alas! for the birds, who struggled in the cruel snare in vain,Yet some few burst their bonds, and joyful, brake forth into song again!
Then the boy spake,'Now sweet my mother, why trouble the birds so sore?105Forsooth they can ne'er have harmed thee, ah, leave them in peace once more!'And his mother kissed him gently, 'Perchance I have wrought a wrong,Of a truth, the dear God who made them, He gave unto them their song,And I would not that one of his creatures should sorrow because of me.'But the boy looked up in wonder, 'God, Mother? Who may God be?'110'My son, He is light beyond all light, brighter than summer's day,And He bare a Man's Face, that we men might look on His Face alway!Art thou ever in need of succour? call on Him in thine hour of ill,And be sure He will fail thee never, but will hear thee, and help thee still.Yet one there is dwelleth in darkness, and I wot men may fear him well,115For his home is the house of falsehood, and his kingdom the realm of Hell!Turn thy mind away from him ever, nor waver betwixt the twain,For he who doubteth, his labour shall ever be wrought in vain.'
Thus his mother read him the riddle, the myst'ry of day and night,The dread and the doom of darkness, and the glory and grace of light!120Then javelin in hand he hastened thro' the forest pathways wild,And the deer sprang up from their thickets, and fled from the dauntless child;But clear-eyed and eager-footed he hastened upon their track,And full oft with a hornèd trophy, at even he hied him back.Little cared he for rain or sunshine, summer's storm or winter's snow,125And daily in strength and beauty all men might behold him grow;Till at length no beast so mighty thro' the forest wild did roam,If it fell 'neath his shaft, unaided, on his shoulder he bore it home!
It chanced thro' a woodland thicket one morn as he took his way,And brake from o'erhanging bushes full many a leafy spray,130That a pathway steep and winding rose sharply his track anear,And the distant beat of horse-hoofs fell strange on his wondering ear.Then the boy grasped his javelin firmly and thought what the sound might be;'Perchance 'tis the devil cometh! Well, I care not if it be he!Methinks I can still withstand him, be he never so fierce and grim,135Of a truth my lady mother she is o'er-much afraid ofhim!
As he stood there for combat ready, behold, in the morning light,Three knights rode into the clearing, in glittering armour bright;From head to foot were they armèd, each one on his gallant steed,And the lad as he saw their glory thought each one a god indeed!140No longer he stood defiant, but knelt low upon his knee,And cried, 'God, Who helpest all men, I pray Thee have thought for me!'
Then wroth was the foremost rider as the lad barred his further way,And he spake out, 'This stupidWaleiswill hinder our work to-day!'(Now here would I give to the Waleis the fame we Bavarians hold;145They are duller than e'en our people, yet manly in strife and bold.And in sooth were one born in both countries such marvel of strength and skillWould he hide in himself that I think me their fame he might well fulfil!)
Then there rode swift with hanging bridle, in costly harness dight,With plumed and jewelled helmet another gallant knight;150Swiftly he came as thirsting to challenge in mortal fightThe foe who sped far before him, who had done him a sore despite;For two knights from out his kingdom a maiden had borne away,And he held it a deed most shameful and one he must needs repay;For the maiden's sorrow grieved him, and fain would he ease her pain:155(And the three knights who rode before him were part of his warlike train.)He rode a Spanish war-horse, and his shield had fierce conflict seen,And Karnachkarnanz did they call him (he was Ulterleg's count I ween).Then he cried to his knights, 'Why loiter? who barreth our onward way?'And straight on the lad did he ride there, who deemed him a god alway,160For ne'er had he seen such glory; his harness shone fair with dew,And on either foot the stirrups with golden bells rang true.And their length was e'en as fitting, and with bells did each strong arm ring,As he stirred himself, or his sword-blade in battle aloft would swing.And the hero was swift in seeking the guerdon of knightly prize,165So he rode here, the prince, and had decked him in a fair and wondrous wise.
Then spake this flower of all knighthood, 'Say, boy, did they pass thy way?Two knights who have shamed their knighthood, nay,robbersI ween are they,For they bear a maiden with them, and she rideth against her will!'Yet the boy, tho' he spake with a man's tongue, as a god must account him still;170For he thought how Queen Herzeleide had told him that God was LightAnd dwelleth in Light for ever; and so to his dazzled sightThis knight, in his shining armour in the glow of the summer's day,Was the God of his mother's lesson, and he knelt him again to pray.
But the prince he spake full gently, 'Fain am I to do God's will,175And yet for no God I hold me, but a sinful mortal still.Nay, wert thou more clear of vision, thou wouldst see, an thou sawest aright,No Lord of the host of Heaven, but only a humble knight!'
'Knight?' quoth the boy in answer, 'Nay! I wot not what that may be,Is thy strength not of God, but of knighthood, then I would such were given to me!'180'Then wend thy way to King Arthur, an thou camest unto his court,A noble knight he would make thee, ashamed and afeared for naught,For sure, now I look upon thee, thou com'st of a noble strain.'Then his knights they turned their bridles, and gazed at the boy again.Full well might they look and wonder, at the work that God's Hand had wrought,185For they say, who tell this story, that never could human thoughtHave dreamed of aught so goodly, since ever the world began,For of all men beloved by women, was there never so fair a man!Loud they laughed as the boy spake further, 'Good knight, what may these be?These rings that so close around thee, above and below I see.'190Then he handled, with curious finger, the armour the knight did bear,His coat of mail close-linkèd as behovèd a knight to wear;And he spake as he looked on the harness, 'My mother's maidens stringOn their chains, and around their fingers, full many a shining ring,But they cling not so close to each other as these rings that here I see,195I cannot force them asunder, what good are they then to thee?'
Then the prince drew forth from its scabbard his shining blade so keen,'Now see, he who fights against me, must withstand my sword I ween,And lest he, on his part, should slay me, it is fit that with mail and shield,I ward me against his spear-thrusts, and the blows that his arm may wield.'200Swiftly the lad made answer, 'Little good would it do the deerAn their coats were e'en such as thine is, they would fall still beneath my spear.'
Full wroth were the knights and scornful that their lord thus long had talkedWith this lad with the face of an angel, and the speech as of one distraught;Then the prince he spake full gently, 'God keep thee in His good grace,205I would that my shield's bright mirror might show me as fair a face!Nay, an the Giver of all gifts but gave thee wit enowTo match with a mien so goodly, full rich wert thou then I trow!May He keep all sorrow from thee, and thy life be a summer's day—'And with that he turned his bridle, and wended once more his way.210Then adown the woodland pathway they rode, till they came full soonWhere the carles of Queen Herzeleide toiled hard thro' the sultry noon:The fields must they plough and harrow, if a harvest they hoped to reap,So they goaded the patient oxen to their toil on the hillside steep.
Then the prince he gave them 'Good-morrow,' and asked if there passed that way215A maiden in need and sorrow? and they dared not to say him nay;But they answered him e'en as he prayed them, and they spake 'Yea, at early mornTwo knights and a maiden passed here, and the maiden, she wept forlorn,And the knights as they rode beside her, spurred ever her flying steed.'Then the prince knew his foe, Meljakanz, and his wrath waxed hot indeed,220On his tracks he followed swiftly, and they who this venture tell,Say he won back in fight the maiden ere the shadows of evening fell.
But sore were the queen's folk troubled that the heroes had chanced that way,And they spake, 'God forbid that our queen's son fall in with these knights to-day!An he chances to light upon them in the pride of their warlike gear,225It will anger full sore our mistress if by hap she the tale should hear:And ill-luck will it bring upon us that, ere ever the dawn of day,With us while his mother slumbered, to the woods he stole away!'Little recked the boy of their trouble as he chased the flying deer,And shouted in youthful gladness, as they fell before his spear230Then homeward he sped to his mother, but ere he his tale might tellShe was smitten with deadly terror, and low at his feet she fell.
Then soon as Queen Herzeleide found hearing and speech once moreHer boy was she fain to question tho' her heart it misgave her sore;'Who spake to thee, son, of knighthood? What knowest thou of such-like rede?'235'I met in the woods, sweet mother, four men I deemed gods indeed,So light were they all and shining, God Himself ne'er could brighter be,And of knighthood they spake and King Arthur, who might well make a knight of me!'Then her sorrow of old-time wakened, and the queen in her heart she soughtFor some cunning wile of woman, that her boy from his will be brought.240
When the simple lad and gallant would crave from her hand a steed,Tho' heavy her heart, she bethought her in naught to gainsay his need,'Yet not as he asks will I give him, no mother's gifts be mine,But ever the worst and the meanest that my skill may aye divine.'And she thought her, Queen Herzeleide, 'Many folk thro' the world shall fare245Who love mocking—On his fair body my son shall a Fool's dress wear,Then sure when the mockers see him, and to scoff at his garb are fain,An he at their hands be smitten, then he cometh to me again!'Alas! for a woman's cunning, and the cruelty of mother's love,She chose from her stores a sackcloth, the coarsest that might be wove,250And a garment of this she made him that should reach e'en unto his knee;For his sunny hair such covering as on fools men are wont to see;And instead of hose she bound him on his limbs so strong and fairLeggings of undressed calf-skin—And all wept who beheld him there.
Then his mother with forethought bade him to tarry till morning light,255'Nor from hence would I have thee journey till my rede thou hast heard aright—'Keep thou ever from paths untrodden and ford not the darkling stream,Where the waters flow clear and limpid, there safe is the ford I ween.And be ever fair and courteous, greet all men who pass thy way.If a wise man old and grey-headed would teach thee, as well he may,260All courteous ways and fitting, as his word so shall be thy deed,Nor wax wroth if by whiles he chide thee, but give to my words good heed.And one thing, my son, would I tell thee, canst thou win from a maid her ringAnd her greeting fair, thou shalt take them, and sorrow hath lost her sting!If a kiss from her lips she will give thee, and thine arms shall the maid enfold,265Be she pure and true thou art blessèd, and thy strength shall wax high and bold!'
'And hearken my son, a proud knight, Lähelein, do men call his name,From thy princes two lands hath wrested, else from them couldst thou tribute claim.And Waleis they are and Norgals—and one of thy princes brave,Turkentals, hath he slain, and thy people he hath smitten and doth enslave.'270'For such wrong will I vengeance, mother, if vengeance be here God's will,Be he never so strong with my javelin I think me to wound him still.'
Then e'en at the daylight's dawning the boy would no longer stay,For the thought of King Arthur's glory yet heavy upon him lay.Then Queen Herzeleide kissed him, and she sped swift his steed behind,275And the sorrow of sorrows smote her when her boy she no more might find.(Hence he rode and what heart rejoiceth?) Then the queen from all falsehood free,Fell low on the earth, and grief tare her till death must her portion be!Yet I wot that her death so faithful it hath saved her from pains of Hell,And to be of such son the mother, it repayeth all anguish well!280Thus she, the root of all goodness whence humility's flower might blow,Herself on a pilgrimage wended that a goodly goal should know.Woe worth us! that none of their children should live still, to hand us downIn these days when we look on falsehood their honour and fair renown.And therefore shall faithful women wish well to this lad so bold,285Who rideth fair ventures seeking, whose journey ye now behold!
Then the gallant lad rode onward on his way toward Briziljan's wood,And he came to a rippling streamlet, and a cock well might wade that flood!And flowers in the grass were blooming, yet so darkling ran the waveThat the lad he thought not to ford it; but as wit the counsel gave,290So he followed its course thro' the daylight, and he passed as he could the night,Till he saw once more the morning, and he came to a fair ford bright.On the further side was a meadow, and a tent decked the grass so green,And tall was the tent wide-spreading, and riches thereon were seen;'Twas of samite of threefold colours, on the seams lay fair ribbons wide,295And a leathern covering hung there, 'gainst the rain-cloud to guard its pride.
('Twas Duke Orilus of Lalande, whose wife he beneath it found—She lay there in peaceful slumber with riches happed fair around,A Duchess she was, well worthy the love of a gallant knight,And the venture it tells that Jeschuté was the name of that lady bright)300
Softly the princess slumbered,—yet weapons of love she bore;A mouth so red and glowing, that a knight's heart had wounded sore,And e'en as she slept they parted asunder, her lips so bright,That the fire of love had kindled, (fit venture for gallant knight)And even as ivory snow-white, and little, and close the row305Of the teeth that gleamed white betwixt them—methinks that a man were slowTo use himself to such kisses from a mouth that all men might praise—I wot that so fair a guerdon but seldom hath crowned my days!
A covering of richest sable over foot and knee was thrown,(For the heat she aside hath cast it, whom her lord had thus left alone)310And her form it was fairly fashioned, and wrought by a skilful hand,Since 'twas God Himself in His wisdom who so fair a work had planned.And long was her arm and rounded: on her snow-white hand a ringGleamed golden, and when he saw it the lad to her side did spring;For had not his mother told him such jewels were the guerdon fair315That a knight well might crave? and he thought him he fain would such token bear!
Then the lady awoke in terror as his clasp on her white arm fell,And gazed in startled wonder and wrath as beseemed her well;'Who is it, who thus would shame me? Nay, sir, thou art all too free!Go, choose thee some fairer maiden, my favours are not for thee!'320
In vain might she weep and bewail her; he asked not her yea, or nay,But took from her lips unwilling the kiss she would fain gainsay;And the ring of gold from her finger with ungentle hand he'ld take,And the clasp that her shift had fastened from the garment he roughly brake:In vain were her tears and struggles, she was but a woman still,325And his strength was to hers as an army, perforce must she do his will.Then the lad spake aloud, he hungered, from his hand was the lady free,And she quoth, 'Of a truth 'twere better thou shouldst not make meal of me!If thou wert but a little wiser thou wouldst choose thee some other meat,There stand bread and wine, and two game-birds, of them mayst thou freely eat,330Methinks when my maiden brought them, 'twas scarcely of thee she thought!'Then he asked not where sat the hostess, but he ate e'en as hunger taught,And he drank his fill; and the lady she deemed all too long his stay,For she thought him bereft of his senses, and she wished he were well away,And for fear and shame the sweat-drops stood thickly upon her brow—335And she spake, 'Thou my ring shalt give me, and the clasp thou didst take but now,And get thee away, if he cometh, my husband, then shalt thou bearThe weight of his wrath, and I think me thou wouldst then wish thyself elsewhere!'
Quoth the noble youth, 'What care I how fierce thy lord's wrath may be?If my presence doth shame thine honour, then from hence will I swiftly flee.'340And he stepped to the bedside boldly, and kissed her as there she lay,Tho' little it pleased the Duchess, and without leave he rode away;And he spake a word of parting as he vaulted upon his steed,'God have thee in His safe keeping, so my mother she gave me rede.'
Then the lad he was glad of his booty, and thus did he ride a while—345Methinks there was little lacking that from hence he had gone a mile,Ere he came of whom I would tell you: on the dew he the tracks might seeOf one who had sought his lady—The tent-ropes displaced should beWhere the lad thro' the grass had ridden; then the gallant Duke and proudFound his lady within in sorrow, and Orilus spake aloud,350'Alas! for the service done thee—for smitten and put to shameIs the crown of my knightly honour, since another thy love can claim!'Then little, alas! might it profit that with streaming eyes she sworeNo lover had she save her husband,—he would hearken her tale no more.
Then she spake in her fear and anguish, 'Twas afool, he who came to me,355And yet tho' a fool, of all men I wot he may fairest be!My ring and my clasp gold-gleaming, he took them against my will!''Nay, I doubt not so well he pleased thee, thou didst grant him more favours still,''Now, God forbid! for his fool's garb and his javelin were e'en too near,It shameth us both, my husband, such words from thy lips to hear!360Arequeenswont to love thus lowly, that thou speakest such words of me?Thou wrongest our royal breeding, when thou deemest such things may be!'
Then the Duke spake, 'This shame, O lady! alone hast thou won from me,Thou dost call thyselfQueenno longer; tho' thy title shallDuchessbeLittle good hath that bargain brought me—So bold shall my manhood be,365That thy brother, King Lac's son Erec, for that cause beareth hate to thee:He is wise, and right well he knoweth that my fame so high shall standThat nothing shall stain mine honour, save at Prurein when his right handIn knightly joust once felled me, but that have I paid right well,In a joust at Karnant I smote him, and behind his steed he fell,370And his pledge did he yield unto me,—thro' his shield I thy token bare,I thought not, my wife Jeschuté, withanotherthy love to share!''Thou mayst also well assure thee that the son of King Gandein,Proud Galoes, once lay lifeless before this arm of mine;And thou thyself wast witness when the Knight Plihopleheri375Rode swift in a joust against me, nor his strife it hath passed me by,My spear from the saddle thrust him that his charger he sat no more;Yea, great was the fame that I won me by my prowess in days of yore,Many knights have I borne from their chargers,—yet it profiteth not I ween,Nor outweigheth the bitter shaming that thro' thee hath my portion been!'380
And with reason good do they hate me, those knights of the Table Round,Since eight of their bravest champions have I borne unto the ground,And many fair maidens saw it, when at Kanedig fierce we foughtFor the hawk; there was I the victor, and my hand fame to thee hath broughtAnd that didst thou see with King Arthur—At his court doth she dwell to-day,385My sister, sweet Kunnewaaré, and grave is her mien alway,For her lips may not move to laughter till the day that her eyes shall lightOn him who of all shall be reckoned the fairest and bravest knight.Would he come unto me, that hero! Ah! then should a strife be seenAs to-day in the early morning already my lot hath been.390I have fought, and a prince hath suffered, for joust he toward me sped,But my spear-point so sorely smote him that he lay there before me, dead!'
'Well I know that in righteous anger for a lesser sin than thineFull many had slain the sinner, but I would not such deed were mine!For the service of knightly honour that to thee I had offered fair,395Henceforth shalt thou know but lacking; nor thy need do I think to spare—No more with thy white arms circled in love and in peace I'll lie,Those golden days of love's glory have faded and passed us by,But pale be thy mouth so rosy, and tear-dimmed thy shining eyes,For joy shall be put far from thee, and thy heart's songs be turned to sighs!'400
Then sadly she looked upon him, that princess so fair and true,'May it be for the honour of knighthood what seemeth thee best to do,Wise art thou indeed and loyal, and I in thy power may be,And I know well that heavy sorrow and pain thou canst bring on me:To the ordeal, I prithee, put me, and do this for all women's sake,405Thereafter, an I be guilty, for my sin do thou vengeance take!If another's hand shall slay me, (fortheewere such deed un-meet)Then gladly I'll die—Dost thou scorn me? then welcome is death, and sweet!'
Then he broke out in bitter anger, 'If thy pride be still so great,It is meet I should meekness teach thee, tho' the lesson be all too late—410No more shall we be companions, together no more we'll eat;Be our marriage couch forgotten and the hours of communion sweet.This garment in which I found thee thy only robe shall be,And instead of jewelled bridle hempen twist will I give to thee;Thy steed be the guest of hunger, and thy saddle once decked so fair415Shall be robbed of its goodly trappings!' and with hasty hand he tareThe samite adown, and he brake it, the saddle she rode erewhile,(Nor her gentle ways and seemly might his angry wrath beguile)With a hempen cord he bound it—Too soon had she won his hate!As he did this he spake, 'Now Lady, 'tis best we no longer wait,420Could I reach him who shared thy favours, then fulfilled were my heart's desire,The venture I'ld face, though as dragon he were breathing forth flames and fire!'Then with weeping instead of laughter she passed from out the tentThat lady so rich in sorrow, and sadly her way she went;Yet more than she mourned her shaming she wept her lord's grief, I ween,425His sorrow so sorely moved her, e'en death would have lighter been.Now of true heart shall ye bemoan her who thus did sore anguish know,And tho' hatred I won from all women, still I'ld mourn for Jeschuté's woe!
So rode they upon the traces of the lad who before them fled,And, dauntless, he little thought him how a foeman behind him sped,430But whoever his eyes might light on, as his pathway they drew anear,He gave to him kindly greeting, 'Thus bade me my mother dear!'
Thus rode he, our lad so foolish, adown a mountain side,When a woman's voice before him from amid the rocks loud cried;'Twas a cry of heartfelt sorrow, for her joy was in ruins laid—435Then swift rode the lad towards her,—Now hear what she did, this maid:She tore, the maid Siguné, her plaits of long brown hairFrom out her head thro' sorrow; and the lad he beheld her there,And he saw Schionatulander, the prince, on her knee lie dead,And the maiden she wailed above him, and her joy had for ever fled.440
('If sad be their mien or joyful, my mother she bade me stillGreet all men, whoe'er might meet me) God keep thee from greater ill,For in sooth a sorry treasure have I found on thy knee to-day!Who hath wounded this knight?' (For an answer the lad he would press alway)'Did one with a javelin slay him? For Lady, he sure is dead;445Wilt thou tell me naught? Who hath slain him? If he none too far hath fledMethinks I might overtake him, for gladly with him I'ld fight!'Then the lad he laid hold on his quiver wherein lay the javelins bright,And still in his hand tight claspèd, the tokens twain he boreWhich he in his thoughtless folly erewhile from Jeschuté tore.450Had he known the courtly customs with his father's life in-bound,His shield were better smitten when the duchess alone he foundWho thro' him must suffer sorrow—for more than a whole year long,Her husband withheld his favour, tho' in sooth did he do her wrong.