Classic Poem

Introduction or Prologue.

Are then in Suabia's province hushed all heroic lays,
Where once the harps of knighthood rang out the Staufen's praise?
And if they be not silenced, why fail they to recite
How fought our gallant fathers, how gleamed their weapons bright?
Men lisp their vapid numbers, teach epigrams to scold,
But scorn fair woman's beauty, the Light of ballads old;
Where heroes wait th' enchanter, in dismal silence bound,
Men o'er the spot trip lightly, and shudder at a sound.
Then break from out thy coffin, rise from the dusky choir,
(With brave and dauntless Ulrich), thou Rauschebart, the sire!
Thou foughtest all unconquered, thro' many a rolling year;
Burst forth and stand before us with clash of sword and spear!
Legend I. The Surprise at Wildbad.

I' the beauteous days of summer, when breezes warmly blow,
When woods are clothed with verdure and gardens gaily glow,
There rode from Stuttgart's portals a knight of stalwart mould,
Count Eberhard der Greiner, hight Rauschebart the old.
But scantily attended, on rides the noble knight,
He wears nor helm nor breastplate, nor seeks the stormy fight.
Right on he rides to Wildbad, where wells a tepid spring,
That to the old fresh vigour, to sick men health can bring.
At Hirsau, with the abbot awhile abides the knight,
And drinks, while peals the organ, the conventwine so bright;
Then threads the dark pine-forest, and rides the vale along,
Where down its rocky channel the Enz rolls fierce and strong.
At Wildbad, near the market, a lofty house is seen,
The sign that hangs before it — a lance of brightest sheen;
There 'lights the Count from horseback, there seeks from care to rest;
And daily to the fountain repairs the noble guest.
There having doffed his garments, awhile he pausing stood;
A prayer to Heav'n he uttered — then plunged within the flood:
He ever took his station where from their craggy spout
The fountain's healing waters rushed fullest, hottest out.
A wild boar sorely smitten, that washed his wound of blood,
First shewed the eager huntsmen where rolled the hidden flood;
There now the aged hero oft whiles an hour away,
And bathes the limbs where linger the scars of many a fray.
One day in haste came thither a page, with terror pale:
" Sir Count! a troop of horsemen come down the upper vale;
They swing right heavy maces — a Wild Boar to the gaze
Beneath a Golden Rosebud the leader's shield displays "
" My son — those are the Schlegels, well-known for mighty deeds;
Give me my tunic, youngster — 'tis Eberstein that leads.
Full well I ken the Wild-Boar — his foes in wrath he tears,
Full well I ken the Rosebud — a piercing thorn it bears. "
Just then a watchful shepherd draws near, and pants for breath:
" Sir Count, a troop of horsemen ride up the vale beneath;
Three Axes bears the leader — his armour brightly gleams,
Till, like the flashing lightning, to daze mine eyes it seems. "
" 'Tis then the Wunnensteiner, the Gleaming Wolf y-hight,
Give me my mantle, youngster — I know his scutcheon bright;
But little joy he brings me — the Axes cleave amain —
Come bind my sword beside me — my blood the Wolf would drain.
A maid surprised in bathing, who cowers in quick alarm,
Some raillery must suffer, but 'scapeth free from harm;
But if they thus discover a chief grown old in strife,
'Twill cost him much in ransom, if not perchance his life. "
Then answer made the shepherd — " Be by my counsel swayed,
I know a secret footpath, where warrior ne'er hath strayed;
No horse could ever follow, there goats alone can flee —
I'll bring thee hence in safety, if thou but follow me! "
Right through the tangled brushwood they clamber up the steep;
The Count with trusty broadsword his onward way must reap;
He ne'er till then had tasted the bitterness of flight —
The bath had lent him vigour; he longed to turn and fight.
Tho' noontide's heat glowed fiercely, right up the hill they pressed,
Upon his broadsword's pommel ere long the Count would rest;
The shepherd viewed with pity the old and valiant lord,
And on his back he takes him: — " 'Tis done with free accord. "
Then thinks the gray-haired Greiner: " I hold it passing good
So gently to be carried by one of trusty blood;
In dangers and distresses the people's faith is shewn;
Then let their ancient charters aside be never thrown. "
Within his hall at Stuttgart in safety sits the knight;
He bade them coin some medals, memorials of his flight;
Of these the trusty shepherd a goodly share receives,
Whilst others to the Schlegels, in scorn, he freely gives.
He next some sturdy masons to Wildbad sends apace,
To build protecting ramparts around the open space,
That each one who in future, age-stricken, thither goes,
May gain fresh health and vigour, secure from fear of foes.
Legend II. The Three Kings of Heimsen.

Three kings at once in Heimsen! who could have thought it true?
By mounted knights attended with state and honour due!
The three, who ruled as captains the Schlegel brotherhood,
Now claim a kingly title to make their conquests good!
Enthroned they sit together and eagerly take rede,
Devising and concocting a great and warlike deed,
How with a gallant army the Greiner to surround,
And (better than at Wildbad) his every wile confound;
How next they may immure him and break his castles small,
Until he free the nobles from irksome feudal thrall;
Then, Peace! farewell for ever; then, Feudal rights, good night!
Then shall the lawless soldier treat all the world with slight!
At length the night hath fallen, the kings have sought repose;
E'en now the cocks were crowing, as morning's light arose,
When loudly from the turret the sentry's warning swells:
" Awake! awake! ye sleepers! " — that sound a siege foretells.
There, 'mid the mists of morning, appears a surging tide
That round the little township draws near on every side.
Hark to the low-voiced murmurs, the tramplings and alarms,
The sound of hoofs and snortings, and hollow clash of arms!
And as the morning lightens, and sink the shades of night,
Lo! morning-stars and lances shine brighter and more bright!
The peasants of the province the township close enfold,
And 'midst them, high on horseback, sits Rauschebart the old!
The Schlegels fain would struggle to guard their fort and town,
A flight of stones and arrows they hurl unceasing down;
" Now softly " — quoth the Greiner — " to warm your bath I'll try!
It needs must steam and simmer till waters every eye! "
Around the ancient outworks are wood and straw up-reared,
Brought thither in the darkness, and well with tar besmeared.
They shoot in burning arrows — how blazed the crackling straw!
They hurl in flaring torches — what sheets of flame they saw!
And now from every quarter is fuel swiftly brought,
Which far and wide the peasants with eagerness have sought;
And higher still and higher the flame ascends and turns
Till now with merry crackle the castle-roof it burns.
One gate was left unguarded — for so the Count approved —
Hark! how the bolts behind it are softly, slowly moved!
Thence burst the Schlegels fiercely, with courage of despair?
Ah no! they walk demurely, as in a house of prayer.
First come the Kings of Heimsen, on foot, in humble wise,
Their heads — once crowned — uncovered, with sad and downcast eyes;
Next many lords and servants pace forth by twos and threes,
That all may well behold them, and number them at ease.
" Now welcome " — quoth the Greiner — " nor deem that ye intrude,
I've caught you cooped together, much honoured brotherhood!
Ye sought me once in Wildbad — my visit, friends, is this;
One only, (and 'tis pity), the Wunnenstein I miss.
A peasant who right nimbly had helped the flames to feed,
Now leant upon his halberd, of all that passed took heed;
" Three kings at once " — he muttered — " 'tis plenty, by my fay!
Were but a fourth here present, a game at cards we'd play! "
Legend III. The Battle at Reutlingen.

Upon the crags at Achalm fierce birds of prey abide,
Der Greiner's son, Count Ulrich, and many a knight beside;
Round Reutlingen they hover, and flap their wings in scorn;
Soon must the town surrender, by constant toil outworn.
But suddenly the townsmen have risen up by night,
Down Urachthal they hasten, a band of mickle might;
And soon from mill and homestead shoots up a flame blood-red,
The herds away are driven — the herdsmen lie for dead.
Sir Ulrich marked their doings, he cries in lofty scorn:
" Within your town shall enter no hoof and eke no horn; "
His knights are up and ready, they clothe themselves in mail,
Bound lightly on their chargers, and ride adown the vale.
Below the town there standeth a church — St. Leonard's hight —
A grassy plot adjoins it, where knights can freely fight;
They 'light from off their chargers, they stand in stern array,
Their threatening lances bristle — who dares to pass that way?
From Urachthal the townsmen at length 'gin homeward hie,
Far off are heard their shoutings, mixed with the herd's hoarse cry;
The host comes slowly onward, equipped with warlike gear,
How proudly float their pennons, how glimmer sword and spear!
Now close your ranks together, ye brave and knightly band,
Against so stout an army ye had not thought to stand.
Their troops in countless numbers roll onward, one and all,
The knights stand fast in silence, like rock or rampart-wall.
In Reutlingen's old outworks is found an ancient door,
With boughs of thickest ivy 'tis closely woven o'er;
The knights had clean forgot it, but now 'tis opened wide,
And through it groups of townsmen roll like a rising tide.
Upon the knights to rearward they rush in furious mood,
To-day for once the townsmen shall bathe in knightly blood;
The tanners tan more soundly than e'er they tanned a hide,
Nor e'er before the dyers so crimson-red had dyed.
To-day are ta'en no captives, each strikes his foeman dead,
To-day blood flows in fountains, the grass-plot blossoms red.
Hemmed round still close and closer, by fierce attacks condensed,
All round by brothers' corpses the knightly band is fenced.
Their standard droops — 'tis taken — Count Ulrich's wounded sore —
His few surviving comrades are wearied to the core;
They seize their horses' bridles, upon their backs they leap,
They burst through all their foemen, they gain their moated keep.
Once, pierced by an assassin: " Ach Allm — " groaned out a knight;
He would have said " Allmächt'ger " ; the castle hence was hight;
There Ulrich from the saddle sinks wounded, faint with pain:
Were it not named already, its name it now might gain.
Next morn in slow procession to Reutlingen there crossed
A sorrowing troop of pages, who sought their masters lost.
In rows before the Town-Hall are ranged the pallid dead,
And thither, closely guarded, each trusty page is led.
There slumber more than sixty, so stained with gore and pale,
To recognize his master each page at first doth fail;
At last each trusty servant hath found his dear-loved knight,
Hath washed the corpse and wound it in grave-clothes fair and white.
In waggons some are carried, on biers are others borne,
With ivy-leaves encircled, as men the brave adorn.
So tow'rds the olden portal adown the street they roll,
While slowly from the belfries the funeral knell doth toll.
Gotz Weissenheim, the bravest, goes all the rest before,
'Twas he who in the battle the County's standard bore;
Not once his hold he quitted, but reared it high till slain,
In death he still is worthy to head the funeral train.
Three noble Counts next follow, whose fame afar had rung,
From Tübingen, from Zollern, from Schwartzenburg outsprung;
O Zollern! round thy temples is twined a radiant wreath!
Thy house's future glory beheldest thou in death?
From Saxony two heroes, gray sire and son, draw nigh,
With lilies crowned and poppies, in close embrace they lie.
Round their ancestral castle a spectre stalked of old,
Who long with sad lamentings a coming wo foretold.
A certain Lord of Lustnau, deemed dead, awoke to life;
By night in funeral garments returned he to his wife;
Thenceforth in jest his offspring were as the " Dead Men " known,
But now, one forth is carried as void of life as stone.
The lay proceeds no farther, no more the Muse will mourn;
Wouldst know of all the heroes, who thence were sadly borne?
Go, view the Town-hall windows; in colours bright and fair,
Each warrior's name and scutcheon is duly blazoned there.
Till from his wounds recovered, awhile Count Ulrich stayed;
Then rides he straight to Stuttgart, but little haste he made;
He meets his aged father at dinner-time alone;
A frosty welcome, truly! he hears no word, no tone.
Just opposite his father sits Ulrich at the board,
Thereon, abashed, he gazes; with wine and fish 'tis stored;
A knife the old man seizes, speaks not, but sad at heart,
He slowly cuts between them the table-cloth apart.

Legend IV. The Battle at Doffingen.

Within the quiet churchyard men wont to wander lone,
And hear but Paternosters by cross and burial-stone;
At Doffingen 'twas not so; for all the livelong day
The churchyard rang with warcries, loud raged the furious fray.

The burghers come on foray — the peasants there secure
Their few poor goods and chattels, and strive to make them sure;
With pike and hoe and sickle their foes they long defy;
Whoe'er to death is wounded may find a grave hard by.

Count Eberhard der Greiner perceived the peasants' need;
A band of knights he summons and comes with hottest speed;
Around him soon are gathered the flower of German knights,
The chieftains whom in friendship the " Lowenbund " unites.

There comes a hasty message from Wolf von Wunnenstein,
" Erelong to-day my master will join his host with thine. "
The Count makes answer proudly — " 'Tis not by my request;
Had he in vain the medal I sent him once in jest? "

Count Ulrich sees before him the troops of burghers brave,
Of Reutlingen, of Augsburg, of Ulm the banners wave;
Fierce thoughts of olden rancour awake within his breast:
" Too well I know, ye proud ones, what so exalts your crest! "

He hastens to his father: — " Old debts 'tis time to pay,
Please God — I'll here recover my fathers' fame to-day:
Though with thee at one table I may not dine, brave knight!
Yet on one field of battle I still may dare to fight! "

They 'light from off their horses, the noble Lion-band,
They dash upon the foeman, like lions fierce they stand;
Ho! how the lion Ulrich so grimly roars and slays;
He keeps his word sincerely, his debts in full he pays.

On oaken stump supported, whom bear they off perforce?
" God pity me, a sinner " — he cries in accents hoarse;
Thee hath the lightning shattered, thou proud and princely oak?
Thee hath the sword, brave Ulrich! hewn down with sweeping stroke?

Then shouts the aged hero, whom naught could e'er dismay:
" Fear not — he is as others whom fate hath slain to-day;
Press on! the foes are flying! " he shouts, like thunder's roar;
How streams his beard beside him, how deeply bites the Boar!

These words, in cunning spoken, the wondering burghers scare:
" Who flies? " saith one to other — recoiling here and there;
As though a spell were uttered, their hearts within them sank,
Amid his knights, the Greiner bursts through them, rank on rank.

What gleams and glitters yonder, and flames like lightning's shine?
See, 'mid his sturdy horsemen, the Wolf of Wunnenstein!
He darts upon the burghers, sweeps out an ample bay,
The conquest is accomplished, the foes flee fast away.

I' the harvest-month it happened — in sooth, a sultry day!
Full ripe upon the cornfields the sheaves all thickly lay;
How many a sturdy reaper his wearied arms let fall!
In blood the knights have holden their harvest-festival.

The peasant long thereafter that ploughed the fertile vale,
Oft struck on rusty sword-blades, bent spears, or hauberk's mail;
And as a hollow linden was once condemned and felled,
Behold! a suit of armour and skeleton it held.

When now the fight was ended 'mid victory's noisy shout,
To Wunnenstein, the Greiner his right hand reaches out:
" I thank thee, valiant hero; now homeward ride with me,
This desperate battle ended, we'll feast right merrily! "

" Ha! " — spake the Wolf, loud-laughing — " dost like these merry pranks?
I fought from hate of townsmen, and not to get thy thanks!
Good night, and prosperous journey — my olden rights shall stand " ;
He spake, and galloped homeward with all his valiant band.

In Doffingen's small chapel all night the Count delays,
Beside his Ulrich's body — his only son's — he prays;
Beside the bier he kneeleth, and closely veils his face,
And if he weeps in silence, his tears may no one trace.

Count Eberhard next morning soon mounts his horse again,
And hies him back to Stuttgart with all his martial train;
From Zuffenhaus a shepherd hath met them by the way —
" The man looks sad and drooping, what news hath he to say? " —

" I bring you evil tidings — among our flocks last night
The Gleaming Wolf descended, and took what pleased his sight! "
Then laughs the aged Greiner and shakes his beard: " My friends,
Poor sheep the wolfling hunteth — that way his nature tends! "

They ride in order onward, and from the valley green
See Stuttgart's castle peering, illumed by morning's sheen;
When lo! a trim retainer comes riding by the way —
" The lad looks bright and joyous, what news hath he to say? " —

" I bring thee happy tidings; come, wish thy grandson joy!
To Ulrich fair Antonia hath borne a beauteous boy! "
Thereat the aged hero his hands on high doth raise:
" Still hath the Finch a fledgeling — to God be thanks and praise! "