Classic Poem

Dame Bertha sat in a rock-hewn cave,
And mourned her hapless fate.
Young Roland played in the open air,
His sorrow was nowise great.

" Alas! king Charles, my brother dear!
That ever I fled from thee!
For love both honour and state I left,
Now fierce is thy wrath with me!

O Milo, husband so dearly loved,
The torrent hath strangled thee!
Thy love, for which I forsook my all,
Hath now forsaken me!

O Roland, young and darling child,
Be thou my honour and love!
My Roland, hitherward haste to me,
For thou must my comfort prove.

My Roland, hie thee away to the town,
Ask alms of drink and meat,
And whoever shall give thee the smallest gift,
With blessings and thanks him greet. "

King Charles at his banquet-table sat
In his golden banquet-hall;
With platters and goblets the servants haste
To deck the festival.

The music of harp and flute and song
Each hearer's ear doth bless;
But the sound so clear came yet not near
Dame Bertha's loneliness.

And round about in the court without
Had many a beggar his seat,
Who was more refreshed by the meat and drink
Than e'er by the music sweet.

The king looks through the open door,
Beholding the beggar-throng;
When lo! thro' the press a beauteous child
All fearlessly hastes along.

The child's patched garb is a wondrous sight,
Four colours together blent;
But not with the beggars he deigns to stay,
To the hall his looks are bent.

And into the hall young Roland came,
As though 'twere his home for aye;
A platter he takes from the midst of all,
Which in silence he bears away.

" What's this I behold? " the monarch thinks,
" 'Tis a custom strange and new! "
But since in silence he lets him pass,
The others must do so too.

They had but waited a little while,
When Roland returns more bold;
With hasty step to the king he comes,
And seizes his cup of gold.

" What ho! there, stop! you saucy imp " —
Are the words that loudly ring.
But Roland clutches the beaker still,
With eyes fast fixed on the king.

The king at the first looked fierce and dark,
But soon perforce he smiled —
" Thou comest " , he said, " into golden halls
As though they were woodlands wild.

A dish thou tak'st from the table royal,
Like an apple from off a tree!
A cup thou tak'st full of good red wine
As though from a fountain free! " —

" A peasant girl from a fountain draws,
Breaks apples from off the trees;
But game and fish and the bright red wine —
My mother is fed with these! " —

" If then thy mother's so grand a dame
As thou, fair child, wouldst boast;
She surely must own a castle strong,
And of vassals a seemly host?

Say! who is her steward, her butler sage,
And what are their honoured names? "
" My right hand, sir, is her steward true,
My left to be butler claims. " —

" But tell me, who are her watchmen true? " —
" My two blue eyes are those. " —
" And tell me, who is her minstrel blithe? " —
" My mouth, that's red as the rose. " —

" Thy mother hath vassals stout, I ween;
But yet is her livery strange;
The rainbow's hues methinks it shews,
Its colours so often change. " —

" Eight boys in each fourth part of the town
Have I brought beneath my sway,
Who have brought for my use four kinds of cloth,
To make me a garment gay. " —

" Thy mother is served by one, methinks,
In all the world most able;
She reigns, I should ween, like a beggar-queen,
And keeps an open table.

A dame so great from my court and state
So far should never be;
What ho! three dames! what ho! three knights!
Go, fetch her in here to me! "

Young Roland, still with the cup in hand,
From the hall doth now retreat;
Three dames and knights, at the king's command,
Close follow his hasty feet.

The king looked out with an anxious glance
When a little while had passed;
And soon the dames and the knights he sees
Towards him hurrying fast.

At once he spake with a startled cry:
" May Heav'n forgive my sin!
In the open hall I have passed my jests
On one who is near of kin!

Dost thou, O Bertha my sister, here
In a pilgrim's garment stand?
So pale and wan, in my hall so rich,
With beggar's staff in hand? "

Dame Bertha fell at the monarch's feet,
Her frame with terror shook;
Above her erect stood the stern old king,
And grim was his piercing look.

Dame Bertha fearfully droops her gaze,
To utter no word she tries,
But loudly Roland his uncle greets
As he raises his clear blue eyes.

Then spake the monarch with soothing tone:
" Arise! dear sister mine;
My pardon to thee I freely grant
For the sake of this son of thine! "

Dame Bertha rises with joyous heart:
" My brother, my thanks to thee;
My child one day shall well repay
The good thou hast done to me!

In warfare he, like his king, shall be
A hero of lofty fame;
The colours of many a conquered land
On his banner and shield shall flame.

He'll snatch from the board of many a king
Rich trophies with daring hand,
And honour and weal shall his boldness bring
To his mourning maternal-land. "