Book III · GURNEMANZ, part 2 of 13

¶Then full sore were her people grievèd, for they held it an evil thing, 75 And a training that ill beseemèd the son of a mighty king. But his mother kept him hidden in the woodland valleys wild, Nor thought in her love and sorrow how she wronged the kingly child: No knightly weapon she gave him, save such as in childish play He wrought himself from the bushes that grew on his lonely way, 80 A bow and arrows he made him, and with these, in thoughtless glee, He shot at the birds as they carolled o'erhead in the leafy tree.

¶But when the feathered songster of the woods at his feet lay dead, In wonder and dumb amazement he bowed down his golden head, And in childish wrath and sorrow tore the locks of his sunny hair; 85 (For I wot well of all earth's children was never a child so fair As this boy, who afar in the desert from the haunts of mankind did dwell, Who bathed in the mountain streamlet, and roamed o'er the rock-strewn fell!) Then he thought him well how the music, which his hand had for ever stilled, Had thrilled his soul with its sweetness, and his heart was with sorrow filled, 90 And the ready tears of childhood flowed forth from their fountains free As he ran to his mother weeping, and bowed him beside her knee. 'What aileth thee child?' quoth the mother, 'but now wast thou gay and glad'-- But, childlike, he gave no answer, scarce wist he what made him sad!

¶But Queen Herzeleide watched him through the sunny summer days, 95 Till beneath a tree she saw him stand silent, with upturned gaze, And a look of joyful rapture in the radiant childish eyes, As he listed the bird, that, soaring, sang clear thro' the cloudless skies; And the mother's heart was troubled, and her wrath waxed to fever heat, She would brook in his love no rival--not even God's singers sweet! 100 So she sent forth in haste her servants, with many a cunning snare To capture the singers whose music made joyful the woodlands fair. Then, alas! for the birds, who struggled in the cruel snare in vain, Yet some few burst their bonds, and joyful, brake forth into song again!

¶Then the boy spake,'Now sweet my mother, why trouble the birds so sore? 105 Forsooth they can ne'er have harmed thee, ah, leave them in peace once more!' And his mother kissed him gently, 'Perchance I have wrought a wrong, Of a truth, the dear God who made them, He gave unto them their song, And I would not that one of his creatures should sorrow because of me.' But the boy looked up in wonder, 'God, Mother? Who may God be?' 110 'My son, He is light beyond all light, brighter than summer's day, And He bare a Man's Face, that we men might look on His Face alway! Art thou ever in need of succour? call on Him in thine hour of ill, And be sure He will fail thee never, but will hear thee, and help thee still. Yet one there is dwelleth in darkness, and I wot men may fear him well, 115 For his home is the house of falsehood, and his kingdom the realm of Hell! Turn thy mind away from him ever, nor waver betwixt the twain, For he who doubteth, his labour shall ever be wrought in vain.'

¶Thus his mother read him the riddle, the myst'ry of day and night, The dread and the doom of darkness, and the glory and grace of light! 120 Then javelin in hand he hastened thro' the forest pathways wild, And the deer sprang up from their thickets, and fled from the dauntless child; But clear-eyed and eager-footed he hastened upon their track, And full oft with a hornèd trophy, at even he hied him back. Little cared he for rain or sunshine, summer's storm or winter's snow, 125 And daily in strength and beauty all men might behold him grow; Till at length no beast so mighty thro' the forest wild did roam, If it fell 'neath his shaft, unaided, on his shoulder he bore it home!

¶It chanced thro' a woodland thicket one morn as he took his way, And brake from o'erhanging bushes full many a leafy spray, 130 That a pathway steep and winding rose sharply his track anear, And the distant beat of horse-hoofs fell strange on his wondering ear. Then the boy grasped his javelin firmly and thought what the sound might be; 'Perchance 'tis the devil cometh! Well, I care not if it be he! Methinks I can still withstand him, be he never so fierce and grim, 135 Of a truth my lady mother she is o'er-much afraid of him!

¶As he stood there for combat ready, behold, in the morning light, Three knights rode into the clearing, in glittering armour bright; From head to foot were they armèd, each one on his gallant steed, And the lad as he saw their glory thought each one a god indeed! 140 No longer he stood defiant, but knelt low upon his knee, And cried, 'God, Who helpest all men, I pray Thee have thought for me!'

¶Then wroth was the foremost rider as the lad barred his further way, And he spake out, 'This stupid Waleis will hinder our work to-day!' (Now here would I give to the Waleis the fame we Bavarians hold; 145 They are duller than e'en our people, yet manly in strife and bold. And in sooth were one born in both countries such marvel of strength and skill Would he hide in himself that I think me their fame he might well fulfil!)

¶Then there rode swift with hanging bridle, in costly harness dight, With plumed and jewelled helmet another gallant knight; 150 Swiftly he came as thirsting to challenge in mortal fight The foe who sped far before him, who had done him a sore despite; For two knights from out his kingdom a maiden had borne away, And he held it a deed most shameful and one he must needs repay; For the maiden's sorrow grieved him, and fain would he ease her pain: 155 (And the three knights who rode before him were part of his warlike train.) He rode a Spanish war-horse, and his shield had fierce conflict seen, And Karnachkarnanz did they call him (he was Ulterleg's count I ween). Then he cried to his knights, 'Why loiter? who barreth our onward way?' And straight on the lad did he ride there, who deemed him a god alway, 160 For ne'er had he seen such glory; his harness shone fair with dew, And on either foot the stirrups with golden bells rang true. And their length was e'en as fitting, and with bells did each strong arm ring, As he stirred himself, or his sword-blade in battle aloft would swing. And the hero was swift in seeking the guerdon of knightly prize, 165 So he rode here, the prince, and had decked him in a fair and wondrous wise.