 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
158
THE GREY KNIGHT.
The lands of Otto, the Ritter Grau,
Prince-count of Heidenstein,
Spread many miles from the barren peaks
To the swiftly-flowing Rhine.
As a lion old in his safe stronghold,
He sits in his castle grey,
Holding the power of life and death
O'er all who own his sway;
Sole male survivor of his race,
With him his family fails,
And the grand old line of Heidenstein
Expires for want of males.
Prince-count of Heidenstein,
Spread many miles from the barren peaks
To the swiftly-flowing Rhine.
As a lion old in his safe stronghold,
He sits in his castle grey,
Holding the power of life and death
O'er all who own his sway;
Sole male survivor of his race,
With him his family fails,
And the grand old line of Heidenstein
Expires for want of males.
The grim old count had once a son,
But he has no son to-day;
'Tis more than five-and-twenty years
Since he drove the boy away.
So Konrad died in foreign lands,
And now the Grey Knight grim,
The daughter of his sister's son
Has only left to him.
And she is a maiden fair to see,
Though a very child in years,
And the old man thinks her heart is free
From loving hopes and fears.
But he has no son to-day;
'Tis more than five-and-twenty years
Since he drove the boy away.
So Konrad died in foreign lands,
And now the Grey Knight grim,
The daughter of his sister's son
Has only left to him.
And she is a maiden fair to see,
Though a very child in years,
And the old man thinks her heart is free
From loving hopes and fears.
There is a boy, half page, half groom,
In the Countess Klara's train,
Who follows the lady's will and whim,
And tends her bridle-rein.
A hag had brought him years before,
But his birth she would not tell;
And he had been taught to wield a blade,
And back a war-horse well;
And as in years his age increased
His graces greater grew,
And he loved and served his mistress well,
As all the vassals knew.
In the Countess Klara's train,
Who follows the lady's will and whim,
And tends her bridle-rein.
159
But his birth she would not tell;
And he had been taught to wield a blade,
And back a war-horse well;
And as in years his age increased
His graces greater grew,
And he loved and served his mistress well,
As all the vassals knew.
The Baron of Stahlberg held a fee
Just next to Heidenstein;
He was a knight of courage stout,
And came of a noble line.
He wooed the Lady Klara there,
But though he gave much heed,
His suit proceeded tardily,
His wooing had no speed.
“She never,” so the Baron said
To the Grey Knight, “ says me nay;
She will not let me plead—methinks
Yon page is in the way.”
Just next to Heidenstein;
He was a knight of courage stout,
And came of a noble line.
He wooed the Lady Klara there,
But though he gave much heed,
His suit proceeded tardily,
His wooing had no speed.
“She never,” so the Baron said
To the Grey Knight, “ says me nay;
She will not let me plead—methinks
Yon page is in the way.”
Then to the page Count Otto spake:
“Fortune too oft defers
Her favors till men's locks are white;
To-day you win your spurs.
The robber Ruprecht has been seen
Heading his felon band;
Take Streichel and his men-at-arms,
And scour the lower land.
Who dares high flight needs pinions strong,
As a falcon young must learn:
Go then; from midnight here till dawn
I'll wait for thy return.”
“Fortune too oft defers
Her favors till men's locks are white;
To-day you win your spurs.
The robber Ruprecht has been seen
Heading his felon band;
Take Streichel and his men-at-arms,
And scour the lower land.
Who dares high flight needs pinions strong,
As a falcon young must learn:
Go then; from midnight here till dawn
I'll wait for thy return.”
160
The page went forth; he deemed the skies
Were tinged with rosy red;
And the Prince-count for Fritz Streichel sent,
And these were the words he said:
“The servant hears and then obeys,
But his own voice is dumb:
Should Ruediger return alive,
Thou hadst not better come.”
With that he turned, and Streichel went
With the rest to join the page;
And the force rode out with spirit stout
On Ruprecht war to wage.
Were tinged with rosy red;
And the Prince-count for Fritz Streichel sent,
And these were the words he said:
“The servant hears and then obeys,
But his own voice is dumb:
Should Ruediger return alive,
Thou hadst not better come.”
With that he turned, and Streichel went
With the rest to join the page;
And the force rode out with spirit stout
On Ruprecht war to wage.
That night a priest to the castle came:
“O, great Prince-count,” said he,
“I shrived a dying one to-day,
And this was her tale to me:
She was nurse to the child of your only son,
Born far beyond the tide;
And stood by the couch of the noble pair
When both on one day died;
And long years since she brought the boy,
And here to the castle came,
And gave him to you to train as page,
And Ruediger his name.”
“O, great Prince-count,” said he,
“I shrived a dying one to-day,
And this was her tale to me:
She was nurse to the child of your only son,
Born far beyond the tide;
And stood by the couch of the noble pair
When both on one day died;
And long years since she brought the boy,
And here to the castle came,
And gave him to you to train as page,
And Ruediger his name.”
The old Grey Knight said never a word,
If the news were ill or good;
But strode through the gate to the open air
And there on the terrace stood.
Then silently the men-at-arms
Rode up, and Streichel said:
“I am sorry to tell the noble Count
That the page is behind us—dead.”
A shriek from the oriel just above—
Quoth the Count: “His spurs to earn
Our niece's page went forth; we'll wait
Till dawn for his return.”
If the news were ill or good;
But strode through the gate to the open air
And there on the terrace stood.
Then silently the men-at-arms
Rode up, and Streichel said:
“I am sorry to tell the noble Count
That the page is behind us—dead.”
161
Quoth the Count: “His spurs to earn
Our niece's page went forth; we'll wait
Till dawn for his return.”
When the raven sits on the withered limb,
And croaks to the peaceful Rhine,
And the moonlight deepens the shadows brown
Of the ruins of Heidenstein,
At the midnight hour, when the elves have power,
The Grey Knight gaunt and grim
Paces the crumbling terrace there,
And all men shrink from him;
For every night when the bell strikes twelve,
He comes from his grave below,
And, till the cock crows thrice at dawn,
Moves wearily to and fro.
And croaks to the peaceful Rhine,
And the moonlight deepens the shadows brown
Of the ruins of Heidenstein,
At the midnight hour, when the elves have power,
The Grey Knight gaunt and grim
Paces the crumbling terrace there,
And all men shrink from him;
For every night when the bell strikes twelve,
He comes from his grave below,
And, till the cock crows thrice at dawn,
Moves wearily to and fro.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |