"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 be _Ospirin_, the G.o.dlike bearess. Dost thou understand me?"

The bear looked at him, as if it were all the same to her; so Ekkehard drew forth his ma.n.u.script, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 gra.s.s 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.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The Song of Waltari.

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 necks Low in the dust, before his mighty sword, And paying heavy ransom thus were spar'd,-- One day the bugle sounded far and wide Announcing that another war was near, Calling the men to arms, and then to horse To go where'er their leader should decree.

And Attila, when all had been prepar'd, Spoke thus unto his men, who breathless stood To 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 Worms Franconia's proud and n.o.ble 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 Worms Where 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 cold Spread 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 host Of 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 foes But 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 he Could not be sent,--Sir Hagen in his place, Gibich's own cousin was selected then, A young and stalwart knight, whose pedigree Prov'd his descent from n.o.ble, Trojan blood.

So, he was sent, with ample bags of gold To 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 land Whose 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.s'd the river Rhone, And now came pouring in, a surging sea Of 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'd By paying tribute, had reach'd Herrich's ear, Who now address'd his va.s.sals 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 with King 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 her As hostage to the Huns, to guard the peace."

Bare-headed and unarmed, his messengers Then went to meet the Huns, and sans delay, Into the presence of King Attila They soon were brought, who did receive them well As was his wont,--to dissipate their fears, And then with gracious mien address'd them thus: "Indeed, believe me, I myself prefer A friendly treaty far, to b.l.o.o.d.y war; I am a man of peace, and only fight Against the wanton fools, who dare to doubt The 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, accompanied By a long train of heavy laden men Bearing the gold and jewel's manifold Which as a tribute to the Huns he paid.

And by the hand, fair as the morning star He led his only daughter, Hildegund.

The peace was sign'd,--farewell sweet Hildegund The pearl of Burgundy, its hope and joy.

Full of content at this new treaty made, King Attila now led his warriors brave On to the west, to Aquitania Where Alpher sway'd the sceptre, strong and brave.

An only son, Waltari was his pride Who yet a boy, promis'd one day to be All 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 h.o.a.ry days I cannot find my death, by lance or sword; But now that Burgundy has deign'd to crave A shameful peace, such as Franconia's king First did conclude,--what now is left to me, But do the same?--dispatch my messengers And 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 man By 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 care To see well-taught in all the warlike arts Neglecting 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 alike And placed them high above the n.o.ble Huns.

The German maiden too, soon won the heart Of 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 court Of Gunther, who receiv'd him full of joy.

Great was the sorrow in the morning, when King 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 support Try 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 grat.i.tude.

Of all the n.o.ble Hunnic maidens here, I bid thee choose the best to be thy wife And 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 how A woman's cunning often hits the mark, Which has escap'd the prudent eye of man.

And so he bade Waltari come to him And told him all the queen had said before.

But though his words he temptingly set forth Waltari 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 deign To 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 fight By night or day, my sword you'll idle find; And in the midst of battle ne'er my eyes Shall be found looking backwards, towards the spot Where 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 soul He thought, "Waltari never thinks of flight!"

Meanwhile rebellion dared to raise her head In distant lands, amongst another tribe, Against whose province war was now proclaim'd, And young Waltari then was named chief Of all the army; and it was not long Before a battle waged 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 spears Splitting 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 stood Filling with awe the hearts of all around, And causing a wild flight where'er he turn'd So that the b.l.o.o.d.y 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'd A 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 reins They bade him welcome; offering their help To 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 earth Gladly absorbs the rain after long drought, So did the wine refresh his parched 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 n.o.bler 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 read I 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'd The weeping maiden; saying all he knew To 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 surmount All dangers that may rise in our path."

Then further Walter whisper'd in her ear: "And as they have entrusted thee with all The keys unto their treasures, I would have Thee lay aside the armour of the king, His helmet and his sword, a master-piece Of foreign workmanship. Then go and fill Two 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 hooks So that the lakes and rivers which we pa.s.s, 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 last And 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 forth Enticing, fragrant scents of costly wines.

The meal had now begun. With zealous grace Waltari 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 appet.i.tes were sooth'd, And all the tables from the hall remov'd, Waltari to the king these words address'd.

"And now, my n.o.ble lord and king, I beg, To give your gracious leave without delay That the carousing to the meal succeed."