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Translated by J. C. Mangan
AT midnight, alone, | |
| On the red battle-field | |
| Stands Witekind, Chief of the Saxon Host— | |
| Alas for him!—the day has been lost; | |
| All dimmed show his axe and shield, | 5 |
| And himself stands there like a man of stone! | |
| Woe, woe, woe, | |
| O, woe for thee, Prince Witekind! | |
| |
| Around him lie piled, | |
| All stiff and stark, | 10 |
| His warriors, covered with wounds and blood, | |
| Yet calm in feature! The iron mood | |
| And countenance fierce and dark | |
| Of the Saxon, when dead, are those of a child! | |
| Brave, grave, suave, | 15 |
| Were the warriors of noble Witekind! | |
| |
| But Witekind’s heart | |
| It burns like fire,— | |
| “O Karl!” he cries, “the Gods I adore | |
| Will yet avenge me in streams of gore. | 20 |
| Thou shalt not baffle their ire,— | |
| Low, low shalt thou lie before we part! | |
| Bow, now, thou | |
| By Irmia shalt, before Prince Witekind!” | |
| |
| In a pilgrim’s garb, | 25 |
| Which hides his mail, | |
| He wends his way by the Weser’s flood, | |
| He thirsts, he burns for the Emperor’s blood,— | |
| He hath sworn he shall not fail, | |
| And forthright as the javelin-barb, | 30 |
| He speeds to his goal, | |
| The brave, the untamed, the headlong Witekind! * * * * * | |
| Through the gates of Aix, | |
| In his dark apparel, | |
| He glides as a ghost through the throngéd street. | 35 |
| “Say, where, my friend, am I like to meet | |
| Thy blessed Emperor Karl? | |
| I bear him weighty tidings to-day!” | |
| Thus asked of a monk | |
| The valorous Pagan warrior, Witekind. | 40 |
| |
| The monk replied,— | |
| “All Europe appears | |
| Too narrow to yield the great Karl a home! | |
| But hie thee hence to the Minster-dome, | |
| For there, in the morning tide | 45 |
| He hearkens the holy Mass with tears!” | |
| The heathen frowned. | |
| Little weeted the monk he had parted with Witekind. | |
| |
| Few minutes more | |
| And the Pagan Chief | 50 |
| For the first time stands upon holy ground. | |
| With cold fixed eye he gazes around. | |
| Of the holy Christian belief, | |
| Of the God whom the Nazarene priests adore, | |
| What knows or cares | 55 |
| The barbarous idol-worshipper, Witekind? * * * * * | |
| Long stands he apart, | |
| All stern of mood, | |
| He thinks on the corses gory and pale | |
| That strew the depths of the Weser Vale, | 60 |
| And naught but his conqueror’s blood | |
| Can quench the fires of his vengeful heart! | |
| So deems and dreams | |
| For a time as yet the haught Prince Witekind! | |
| |
| But there flows anon | 65 |
| From the marvellous choir | |
| A strain of melody full and clear. | |
| What magic is it enchants the ear? | |
| The tones of the voice and lyre | |
| Are blent with angelic sweetness in one; | 70 |
| And soon the sword | |
| Falls loosened and lost from the grasp of Witekind! | |
| |
| And the tinkling bell | |
| Gives forth a sound,— | |
| And the faithful, nobles and dames, bow down, | 75 |
| And Karl bends lowly his head and crown, | |
| His golden crown to the ground. | |
| Then awhile is hushed the choir’s deep swell; | |
| And awe and amaze | |
| Succeed to delight in the soul of Witekind. | 80 |
| |
| And slowly he falls | |
| On his bended knee. | |
| Emotions he never hath known before | |
| Pervade him now to the bosom’s core. | |
| Yet never with joy so free | 85 |
| Hath he worshipped stone in his own rude halls. | |
| He adoreth God | |
| With a spirit unbound from fear, he Witekind! | |
| |
| The Mass is o’er, | |
| And the holy hymns | 90 |
| Are chaunted anew by old and young, | |
| And as Witekind hears them freshly sung | |
| There thrills through his heart and limbs | |
| A deeper ecstasy: more and more | |
| To his bosom’s core, | 95 |
| The power of Christ becomes known to Witekind! | |
| |
| “Yes, Karl!” he cries, | |
| “Thy God is in truth | |
| A greater than all my gods by far. | |
| There dawns on my soul a heavenly star. | 100 |
| I have worshipped idols from youth; | |
| But henceforth, mark me, I turn mine eyes | |
| To Christ alone!” | |
| So spake unto Karl the noble Prince Witekind. | |
| |
| And Karl replied,— | 105 |
| And these were his words,— | |
| “All honor to thee, my friend, my mate! | |
| Thou Saxon Lion, my foe of late! | |
| For Christ is the Lord of Lords, | |
| And God like Him there is none beside— | 110 |
| Thine angel hath | |
| Sent thee hither to-day, O valorous Witekind! | |
| |
| “The mighty God | |
| Hath chosen thee! | |
| He hath work, no doubt, for thee to do. | 115 |
| Be thou but faithful and leal and true, | |
| And thou in thy turn shalt see | |
| That never another hero trod | |
| The earth whose worth | |
| And glory will match thine own, O Witekind! | 120 |
| |
| “Rule henceforth o’er | |
| Fair Saxony’s land; | |
| Rule thou, and thine heirs to the latest age,— | |
| Thy name will yet shine in history’s page | |
| In colors glowing and grand!” | 125 |
| That mightiest Emperor spake no more. | |
| But the crowd aloud | |
| Praised God for the change in the heart of Witekind. | |
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