Little Roland

[TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.]

Lady Bertha sat in the rocky cleft,
Her bitter woes to weep:
Little Roland played in the free fresh air;
His sorrows were not deep.

" My royal brother, O King Charles,
Why did I fly from thee!
Splendor and rank I left for love;
Now thou art wroth with me.

" O Milon, Milon, husband dear!
Beneath the waves art thou:
For love I have forsaken all;
Yet love forsakes me now.

" O Roland! thou my dearest boy,
Now fame and love to me;
Come quickly, little Roland, come!
My hope rests all on thee.

" Go to the city, Roland, go!
To beg us meat and bread;
And whoso gives the smallest gift,
Ask blessings on his head. "

Now great King Charles at table sat,
In the golden hall of state:
With dish and cup the servants ran,
On the noble guests to wait.

Flute, harp, and minstrelsy now tune
All hearts to joyful mood:
The cheerful music does not reach
To Bertha's solitude.

Before the hall in the court-yard sat
Of beggars a motley throng:
The meat and drink was more to them
Than flute, and harp, and song.

The king looked out through the open door,
Upon the beggar throng:
Through the crowd he saw a noble boy,
Pushing his way along.

Strange was the little fellow's dress;
Of divers colors all:
But with the beggars he would not stay;
He looked up at the hall.

Within the hall little Roland treads,
As though it were his own:
He takes a dish from the royal board
In silence, and is gone.

The king he thinks — what do I see?
This is a curious way;
But, as he quietly submits,
The rest do nothing say.

In a little while again he comes:
To the king he marches up;
And little Roland boldly takes
The royal golden cup.

" Halloa! stop there! thou saucy wight! "
King Charles's voice did ring:
Little Roland kept the golden cup,
And looked up at the king.

The king at first looked angrily;
But very soon he smiled:
" You tread here in our golden hall,
As in the green woods wild.

" From the royal table you take a dish,
As they take an apple from a tree:
As with the waters of the brook,
With my red wine you make free. "

" The peasant drinks from the running brook;
On apples she may dine:
My mother must have fish and game,
For her is the foaming wine. "

" Is thy mother such a noble dame
As thou, my boy, dost boast, —
Then, surely, has she a castle fair,
And of vassals a stately host.

" Tell me, who may her sewer be?
And who cup-bearer too? "
" My own right hand her sewer is;
My left, cup-bearer true. "

" Tell on; who are her faithful guards? "
" My two blue eyes alway. "
" Tell on; who is her minstrel free? "
" My rosy mouth, I say. "

" Brave servants has the dame, indeed;
But does strange livery choose, —
Made up of colors manifold,
Shining with rainbow hues. "

" From each quarter of the city,
With eight boys I have fought:
Four sorts of cloth to the conqueror,
As tribute, they have brought. "

" The best of servants, to my mind,
The dame's must surely be:
She is, I wot, the beggar's Queen,
Who keeps a table free.

" The noble lady should not far
From my royal palace be:
Arise, three ladies, and three lords!
And bring her in to me. "

Little Roland, holding fast the cup,
From the splendid hall he hies:
To follow him, at the king's command,
Three lords, three ladies, rise.

And after now a little while,
The king sees, far away,
The noble ladies and the knights
Return without delay.

The king he cries out suddenly, —
" Help, Heav'n! see I aright?
'T is my own blood, in open hall,
I have treated with cruel slight.

" Help, Heav'n! in pilgrim dress I see
My sister Bertha stand;
So pale in my gay palace here,
A beggar's staff in her hand! "

Lady Bertha sinks down at his feet,
Pale image of despair:
His wrath returns, and he looks on her
With a stern and angry air.

Lady Bertha quick cast down her eyes;
No word to speak she tried:
Little Roland raised his clear blue eyes, —
" My Uncle! " loud he cried.

" Rise up, my sister Bertha, rise! "
The king said tenderly:
" For the sake of this dear son of thine,
Thou shalt forgiven be. "

Lady Bertha rose up joyfully:
" Dear brother! thanks to thee:
Little Roland shall requite the boon
Thou hast bestowed on me.

" He of the glory of his king
Shall be an image fair:
The colors of many a foreign realm
His banner and shield shall bear.

" The cup from many a royal board
He shall seize with his free right hand,
And safety and fresh glory bring
To his sighing mother-land. "
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Author of original: 
Ludwig Uhland
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