Down the river stood in Beuggen The Teutonic Order's Castle Whence at early dawn of morning All these knights had come on horseback.

Then came black-robed, grave and aged, n.o.ble ladies of the Convent, And in front by the blue standard Walked the aged Lady Abbess, And her thoughts were: "Fridolinus, Though thou art so full of kindness, One thing thou canst ne'er restore me, 'Tis my youth, so fair and golden.

It was charming fifty years since, When my cheeks were red like roses, And when many knights were captured In the meshes of my glances!

Long have I done penance for this, And I hope it is forgiven.

Deeply wrinkled is my forehead, While the cheeks and lips are faded.

And the sunken mouth is toothless."

Next the train of n.o.ble ladies Came the burghers' comely housewives, At the end the elder matrons.

Only one in work-day garments Kept aloof from the procession, 'Twas the hostess from the ancient Tavern of the "Golden b.u.t.ton;"

So demanded ancient custom.

There--so learn we from the legend-- Stood once in those heathen ages An old tavern; Fridolinus, When he first upon the island Set his foot, had there sought shelter; But the landlord, a rude heathen, Spoke unto the holy man thus: "All you priests are good for nothing, But to vilify our old G.o.ds; And you seldom carry even One red farthing in your pocket.

So begone from off my threshold!"

Now the purse of Fridolinus Had indeed but little in it, And he had to take his night's rest Underneath the shady lindens In the meadow. But the angels Cared well for him, and he found out, On awaking, that his purse was Filled with golden Roman pieces.

Then again the Saint did visit The inhospitable tavern, Took a meal, and paid in shining Money what the host demanded; And to shame him left moreover Seven gold coins as a present.

Thus for an eternal warning To all landlords void of pity, Although ages had elapsed since, No one from the "Golden b.u.t.ton"

Could join in the Saint's procession.

As the flowers in the mown field Gaily bloom 'mid dried up stubble, So close by the elder matrons Walked the lovely group of maidens, Clad in snow-white festive garments.

Many old men, as they saw them Pa.s.sing by in youthful beauty, Thought: "Upon our guard we must be, For these maidens are as dangerous As a Swedish regiment."

In the front they bore a statue Of Our Lady, dress'd most richly, In a purple velvet garment, Which they had presented to her, As a grateful holy offering, When the weary war was ended.

In that lovely file the fourth one Was a slender, light-haired maiden; On her curls, a wreath of violets, Over which the white veil floated, And it covered half her features, Like the h.o.a.r-frost in the Spring-time Glistening on the early rosebud.

With her eyes cast down she pa.s.sed by Where young Werner now was standing.

He beheld her. Had the sun then Blinded suddenly his eyesight, Or the fair young maiden's beauty?

Although others still came past him, Rooted to the spot he stood there, Looking only at the fourth one, Gazed, and gazed; when the procession Turned the corner of a side street Still he gazed, as if the fourth one In the file he must discover.

"He is caught!" so goes the saying In that country, when one's soul is By the wand of love enchanted; Love can never be our captive, We are wholly conquered by him.

So beware, my young friend Werner!

Joy and sorrow hides the saying: "He is caught!" I need not say more.

FOURTH PART.

YOUNG WERNER'S ADVENTURES ON THE RHINE.

Mirth now reigned within the city.

Those who early had united In the honoured Saint's procession, Now sat, equally united, Drinking the good wine before them, Or the golden foaming beer.

Corks were popping, gla.s.ses ringing; Many huge and mighty goblets By the guests were emptied quickly, In St Fridolinus' honour.

Simpering with delight, the landlord Counted all the empty barrels, And, with a devout expression, Chalked them all upon the blackboard.

From the inn outside the gate, which By the peasants was frequented, Came gay music; for, with legs crossed, There sat, playing on his fiddle, Schwefelhans, the violinist; And in wild and boisterous dances Were the Hauenstein young peasants Twirling round their buxom partners.

Groaning was the floor, and shaking 'Neath their feet and heavy stamping, From the walls the plaster falling, So uproarious was their shouting.

From afar, with turned-up noses, Many dandies looked on sneering; Yet, within themselves were thinking: "Better, after all, than nothing."

The sedate and older people Sat together in the tap-room.

As their ancestors delighted To get drunk in Woden's honour, So, in true historic spirit.

They for Fridolin got tipsy.

Many troubled faithful consorts Pulled their husbands by the coat-tail, When the second and the third piece Of hard money here was squandered; But the husband said quite coolly: "Dearest wife, control thy humour, For to-day all must be spent here!"

And he left not till the watchman With the halberd came and ordered That 'twas time to close the tavern.

With uncertain steps, ill-humoured, To his mountain-home he totters: And the silent night is witness Of some sudden headlong tumbles.

But she covers them with darkness-- Kindly--as she does the beating Which, as finish to the feasting, He bestows on his poor consort.

Lonely, far-off from the bustle, Walked young Werner toward the Rhine-strand, Without thinking where he wandered.

Still before his eyes there hovered Those sweet features of the maiden Which he had beheld that morning, But now seemed a dream's fair vision.

Burning was his brow; his eyes now Restlessly strayed up to heaven, Then he cast them meekly downward, As if asking where to find her; And he did not mind the north wind, Which his locks dishevelled sadly.

Through his heart hot glowing thoughts ran Wildly chasing one another, Like the mist, which in the autumn Moves around the tops of mountains In most oddly-changing shapes; And it rang and surged within him, Like the first germ of a poem Growing in the mind's recesses.

Also, thus, in bygone ages, By the Arno strolled another Child of man, plunged in deep musing; And he also blew the trumpet, Which, like that of the last judgment, Rang aloud, in piercing notes, through His benighted rotten age.

But when he, upon that feast-day, First beheld the wondrous maiden Who his leading star through life was, And to Paradise did lead him; He then wandered by the river, Under shady oaks and myrtles; And, for all the joyful feelings Which within his heart were ringing, He could only find the utterance: "Beatrice! Beatrice!"

And thus, after many thousand And still thousand years have rolled by, Others, who with love are stricken, Dreamily will walk the same way.

And whenever the last scion Of the Germans on the Rhine-sh.o.r.e Has been gathered to his fathers, Then will others walk and muse there, And in gentle foreign language Murmur the sweet words: "I love thee!"

Do you know them? They have noses Somewhat flattened out and ugly; By the Aral and the Irtish, Now their ancestors drink whisky, But to them belongs the future.

Youthful love, thou pearl so precious, To the wounded heart a balsam, To life's tossing ship an anchor, Oasis in sandy deserts; Never would I venture singing Any new song to thy honour.

I'm one of the Epigoni; And great hosts of valiant people Lived before King Agamemnon.

I know also wise King Solomon, And the petty German poets.

Bashful only, and most grateful, I recall thy gentle magic.

As a golden light it shineth Through the mists of youth, and clearly To our view unveils life's outlines; Shows us where to plant our footsteps, And gives courage to the wanderer.

Lofty hopes and timid longing, Dauntless thoughts and stubborn courage, All these do we owe to Love; And the cheerful heart that helps us, Like a mountain-staff, to spring o'er Rocks which lie upon our pathway.

Happy, therefore, is the heart which Love triumphantly has entered!

But young Werner seemed unconscious Why he thus to-day was strolling Idly here along the river.

Dreamily he walked close by it, Heedless of the waves which often Gave his boots a thorough wetting.

From the river's depths gazed at him Then the Rhine, who just the battle Of two aged crabs was watching, And with noisy, ringing laughter, Nodded praises, when in rage they Crossed their h.o.r.n.y claws together.

Yes, the Rhine--he is a handsome Youthful man, and not alone a Geographical conception-- For young Werner he felt pity.

Rustling rose he from the water, In his locks a wreath of rushes, And a reed-staff in his right hand.

Werner, like all Sunday children, Saw much more than other mortals; So he quickly recognised him, And made him a low obeisance.

Smiling then to him the Rhine said: "Have no fear, my dear young dreamer, For I know where thy shoe pinches.

Ye are strange and odd, ye mortals; Ye believe ye bear a secret Through the world in lonely musing, And each chafer understands it; E'en the gnats and the mosquitoes See it on your heated foreheads, See it in your tearful glances, That Love holds you in his meshes.

Have no fear, I know what love is; I have heard upon my journeys Many false and many true vows Whispered in Romansh and German, Also in the Low Dutch language (In the last oft most insipid).

Nightly likewise have I listened Near the sh.o.r.es to much flirtation And much kissing, yet kept silent.

Many a poor devil also, In whose heart deep grief was gnawing, In my waves found peace and comfort.

When the water-nymphs had gently Lulled him there to sleep, I bore him Off with care to sh.o.r.es far distant.

Under willows, under rushes, Far from tongues of deadly malice, Rest is sweet to false Love's victims.

Many thus have I so buried; I have also harboured many On the river's deep cool bottom In my crystal water-palace; Lodged them well so that they never Longed for man, nor for returning.