Henry of Brunswick

The Duke of Brunswick, a knight so bold,
His like shall we ever again behold?

So ready in tourney and battle strife
To grapple his foe, to risk his life!

The Duke at night from his sleep awoke,
So vivid his dreams, and thus he spoke.

"Allow me to go to a distant clime,
"I live not else to the morning's prime."

"If such be your will, I'll not say no;
"But whither then means my lord to go?

"And when the wine shall I mix and brew?
"And when again shall I look for you?"

"O stay for me years but only eight,
"And after that time no longer wait.

"If then I am come not back again,
"Wed thou with thy best and dearest swain.

"But list to my words, choose not a hare
"To lie in the bed where lay a bear,"

There follow the Duke to the ocean strand
His knights all thirty, and steered from land;

And sobbing there was, and tears not few,
As knights and their ladies bade adieu.

Afar to the East he led his band,
And came to the heathen soldan's land.

His bravest he fought, and battles won.
He battled his way to Babylon.

Bat there did the heathens gain the day,
And captive they led the Duke away.

He dragg'd the harrow, he dragg'd the plough,
So little avail'd his dukedom now.

The Duke for eight years his thraldom bore
With wounds unheard, and many a sore.

He toil'd as a horse from day to day,
But never forgot to our Lord to pray.

And He inclined him his wrath to tame,
And truly to serve the heathen dame.

One day that her husband was gone from home.
She bade him from out his dungeon come;

And sent him loaded with store of food
A seven weeks' journey through the wood.

All under his old and tattered plaid
He belted a well-tried sabre blade;

And while through forests and wilds he went,
He met with many a strange event.

A lion, fighting a grisly pard,
Was well nigh faint, they fought so hard.

"Welcome, Duke Henry! o help thou me,
"And then I will serve and follow thee.'

"Would God that I had the strength and skill,
"This grisly pard I would gladly kill.

The lion, he hit, and the Duke hit hard,
And soon they fear'd the grisly pard.

As threaded the Duke that tangled ground,
Went with him his lion like faithful hound;

And journeying onward, it so befell.
They found a hermit before his cell.

"Duke Henry, welcome! With morning's light
"Thy wife will wed with another knight.

"Thou needest no pain or grief to feel,
"But seat thee and share my frugal meal;

"Refresh thee, and sleep thy toil away,
"And I to my God will go to pray."

The Duke on a stone he slept so sweet;
The faithful lion was at his feet;

But ere he scarcely an hour had slept.
That stone five hundred miles had leapt.

The Duke awoke, as a shepherd sung, —
And heard a lay in his German tongue.

"Now hark, good shepherd, and answer me,
"Whose flock thou art driving across the lea."

"This flock it belongs of Brunswick's dame,
"And once Duke Henry own'd the same.

"fiut far in the East the Duke is dead,
"And she will tomorrow another wed."

"Good shepherd, and may a pilgrim share
"The mirthful feast and the dainty fare?"

"They grudge thee neither the meat nor wine,
"But welcome the pilgrim to sit and dine."

The Duke to the Court walk'd up the street,
The lion as lackey was at his feet.

Much wonder'd the citizens all to see
That lion attend him so faithfully.

The Duke at the kitchen threshold stood,
"O give me a bit of the steaming food."

He saw and call'd to the waiting maid,
And her to carry his message pray'd.

"Go thou to the bride my prayer to make,
"I fain to her health a glass would take."

Up into the hall the damsel hied,
The pilgrim's message she told the bride.

"He bade me his prayer to you to make,
"He fain to your health a glass would take."

"And where has he known me, and who is he
"To send so bold a request to me?

"Go, damsel, that holy pilgrim call,
"And bring him up to the banquet hall."

She saw, in drinking the glass of wine,
The half a ring at the bottom shine.

The bride sprang up from the festive board,
"And now Duke Henry has kept his word."

"Ah nay!" said the bridegroom, "for vouch I can,
'Tis not Duke Henry, that pilgrim man."

"My friend, we yonder each other knew,
"Where once together the plough we drew.

"And shave me my beard, and wash my hair,
"My scars will plainly the truth declare.

"My daughter so lovely to thee I give,
"But I with my wife myself will live."

And all was joyous again and gay,
And deeply they drank their wedding day.