Saint Gertrude

Gertrude was e'en the fairest may
Of all the isles in Charles's sway.
Help us thou virgin Saint Gertrude!

Gertrude's godfather, newly dead.
Had left the maid his towers so red.

Then came a count with ruthless band
To spoil and waste the maiden's land.

Gertrude went out with staff and book.
Her silent way to the churchyard took,

She read a chapter, two she read.
And chaunted prayers to wake the dead.

She read so loud, she sang so long,
Until the dead man heard her song.

With hollow moan he rais'd his head,
"Who dares upon my grave to tread?"

"'Tis I Gertrude, god-daughter thine,
"O help me, dear god-father mine!

"There's come a count with ruthless hand
"To waste and ravage all my land.'

The dead man stretched his long leg hone,
And rent the walls and marble stone.

'Twas far to go, the pathway strait,
And slow and shamhling the dead man's gait.

In through the door the dead man stepp'd;
The living all to comers crept.

All but the guilty count had fled.
But he stood up and fought the dead.

In two the dead man broke his back.
In three he made his leg-hones crack.

"Gertrude, Gertrude, enjoy thy land,
"SAnd save me from the deadman's hand."

Back to his grave, a weary track,
She bare the dead man on her back.

"And what, if now I let thee live,
"Wilt thou thy dear Godfather give?"

"Over thy grave a church I'll build,
"With glittering gold its roof I'll gild.

"Beneath a cross shall rest thy bones,
"In marble shrined, and precious stones.
Help us thou virgin Saint, Gertrude!