Brave Burgundy no longer
Could fight for fatherland;
The foe they were the stronger,
Upon the bloody sand.
He said: "The foe prevaileth,
My friends and followers fly,
My striving naught availeth,
My spirits sink and die.
No more can I exert me,
Or sword and lance can wield;
O, why did he desert me,
Eckart, our trusty shield!
In fight he used to guide me,
In danger was my stay;
Alas, he's not beside me,
But stays at home today!
The crowds are gathering faster,
Took captive shall I be?
I may not run like dastard,
I'll die like soldier free."
Thus Burgundy so bitter,
Has at his breast his sword;
When, see, breaks-in the Ritter
Eckart, to save his lord!
With cap and armour glancing,
Bold on the foe he rides,
His troop behind him prancing,
And his two sons besides.
Burgundy sees their token,
And cries: "Now, God be praised!
Not yet we're beat or broken,
Since Eckart's flag is raised."
Then like a true knight, Eckart
Dash'd gaily through the foe:
But with his red blood flecker'd,
His little son lay low.
And when the fight was ended,
Then Burgundy he speaks:
"Thou hast me well befriended,
Yet so as wets my cheeks.
The foe is smote and flying;
Thou'st saved my land and life;
But here thy boy is lying,
Returns not from the strife."
Then Eckart wept almost,
The tear stood in his eye;
He clasp'd the son he'd lost,
Close to his breast the boy.
"Why diedst thou, Heinz, so early,
And scarce wast yet a man?
Thou'rt fallen in battle fairly;
For thee I'll not complain.
Thee, Prince, we have deliver'd;
From danger thou art free:
The boy and I are sever'd;
I give my son to thee."
Then Burgundy our chief,
His eyes grew moist and dim;
He felt such joy and grief,
So great that love to him.
His heart was melting, flaming,
He fell on Eckart's breast,
With sobbing voice exclaiming:
"Eckart, my champion best,
Thou stoodst when every other
Had fled from me away;
Therefore thou art my brother
Forever from this day.
The people shall regard thee
As wert thou of my line;
And could I more reward thee,
How gladly were it thine!"
And when we heard the same,
We joy'd as did our prince;
And Trusty Eckart is the name
We've call'd him ever since.
The voice of an old peasant sounded over the rocks, as he sang this ballad; and the Trusty Eckart sat in his grief, on the declivity of the hill, and wept aloud. His youngest boy was standing by him:
— Why weepest thou aloud, my father Eckart? said he: Art thou not great and strong, taller and braver than any other man? Whom, then, art thou afraid of?
Meanwhile the Duke of Burgundy was moving homewards to his Tower. Burgundy was mounted on a stately horse, with splendid trappings; and the gold and jewels of the princely Duke were glittering in the evening sun; so that little Conrad could not sate himself with viewing and admiring the magnificent procession. The Trusty Eckart rose, and looked gloomily over it; and young Conrad, when the hunting train had disappeared, struck up this stave:
On good steed,
Sword and shield
Wouldst thou wield,
With spear and arrow;
Then had need
That the marrow
In thy arm,
That thy heart and blood,
Be good,
To save thy head from harm.
The old man clasped his son to his bosom, looking with wistful tenderness on his clear blue eyes.
— Didst thou hear that good man's song? said he.
— Ay, why not? answered Conrad: he sang it loud enough, and thou art the Trusty Eckart thyself, so I liked to listen.
— That same Duke is now my enemy, said Eckart; he keeps my other son in prison, nay has already put him to death, if I may credit what the people say.
— Take down thy broad-sword, and do not suffer it, cried Conrad; they will tremble to see thee, and all the people in the whole land will stand by thee, for thou art their greatest hero in the land.
— Not so, my son, said the other; I were then the man my enemies have called me; I dare not be unfaithful to my liege; no, I dare not break the peace which I have pledged to him, and promised on his hand.
— But what wants he with us, then? said Conrad, impatiently.
Eckart sat down again, and said:
— My son, the entire story of it would be long, and thou wouldst scarcely understand it. The great have always their worst enemy in their own hearts, and they fear it day and night; so Burgundy has now come to think that he has trusted me too far; that he has nursed in me a serpent in his bosom. People call me the stoutest warrior in our country; they say openly that he owes me land and life; I am named the Trusty Eckart; and thus oppressed and suffering persons turn to me, that I may get them help. All this he cannot suffer. So he has taken up a grudge against me; and every one that wants to rise in favour with him increases his distrust; so that at last he has quite turned away his heart from me.