A gentle was Fridolin,
And he his mistress dear,
Saverns fair Countess, honored
in
All truth and godly fear.
She was so meek, and, ah! so good!
Yet each wish of her wayward mood,
He would have studied to fulfil,
To please his God, with earnest
will.
From the first hour when daylight
shone
Till rang the vesper-chime,
He lived but for her will alone,
And deemed een that
scarce time.
And if she said, Less anxious
be!
His eye then glistened tearfully.
Thinking that he in duty failed,
And so before no toil he quailed.
And so, before her serving train,
The Countess loved to raise
him;
While her fair mouth, in endless
strain,
Was ever wont to praise him.
She never held him as her slave,
Her heart a childs rights
to him gave;
Her clear eye hung in fond delight
Upon his well-formed features bright.
Soon in the huntsman Roberts
breast
Was poisonous anger fired;
His black soul, long by lust possessed,
With malice was inspired;
He sought the Count, whom, quick
in deed,
A traitor might with ease mislead,
As once from hunting home they rode,
And in his heart suspicion sowed.
Happy art thou, great Count,
in truth,
Thus cunningly he spoke;
For neer mistrusts
envenomed tooth
Thy golden slumbers broke;
A noble wife thy love rewards,
And modesty her person guards.
The tempter will be able neer
Her true fidelity to snare.
A gloomy scowl the Counts
eye filled:
Whats this thou
sayst to me?
Shall I on womans virtue
build,
Inconstant as the sea?
The flatterers mouth with
ease may lure;
My trust is placed on ground more
sure.
No one, methinks, dare ever burn
To tempt the wife of Count Savern.
The other spoke: Thou
sayest it well,
The fool deserves thy scorn
Who ventures on such thoughts to
dwell,
A mere retainer born,-
Who to the lady he obeys
Fears not his wishes lust
to raise.-
What! tremblingly
the Count began,
Dost speak, then, of a living
man?-
Is, then, the thing, to all
revealed,
Hid from my masters
view?
Yet, since with care from thee concealed,
Id fain conceal it
too-
Speak quickly, villain! speak
or die!
Exclaimed the other fearfully.
Who dares to look on Cunigond?
Tis the fair page
that is so fond.
Hes not ill-shaped
in form, I wot,
He craftily went on;
The Count meanwhile felt cold and
hot,
By turns in every bone.
Ist possible thou
seest not, sir,
How he has eyes for none but her?
At table neer attends to
thee,
But sighs behind her ceaselessly?
Behold the rhymes that from
him came
His passion to confess-
Confess!-And
for an answering flame,-
The impious knave!-to
press.
My gracious lady, soft and meek,
Through pity, doubtless, feared
to speak;
That it has scaped me, sore
I rue;
What, lord, canst thou to help it
do?
Into the neighboring wood then rode
The Count, inflamed with wrath,
Where, in his iron foundry, glowed
The ore, and bubbled forth.
The workmen here, with busy hand,
The fire both late and early fanned.
The sparks fly out, the bellows
ply,
As if the rock to liquefy.
The fire and waters might
twofold
Are here united found;
The mill-wheel, by the flood seized
hold,
Is whirling round and round;
The works are clattering night and
day,
With measured stroke the hammers
play,
And, yielding to the mighty blows,
The very iron plastic grows.
Then to two workmen beckons he,
And speaks thus in his ire;
The first whos hither
sent by me
Thus of ye to inquire
Have ye obeyed my lords
word well?
Him cast ye into yonder hell,
That into ashes he may fly,
And neer again torment mine
eye!
The inhuman pair were overjoyed,
With devilish glee possessed
For as the iron, feeling void,
Their heart was in their breast,
And brisker with the bellows
blast,
The foundrys womb now heat
they fast,
And with a murderous mind prepare
To offer up the victim there.
Then Robert to his comrade spake,
With false hypocrisy:
Up, comrade, up! no tarrying
make!
Our lord has need of thee.
The lord to Fridolin then said:
The pathway toward the foundry
tread,
And of the workmen there inquire,
If they have done their lords
desire.
The other answered, Be it
so!
But oer him came this
thought,
When he was all-prepared to go,
Will she command me
aught?
So to the Countess straight he went:
Im to the iron-foundry
sent;
Then say, can I do aught for thee?
For thou tis who commandest
me.
To this the Lady of Savern
Replied in gentle tone:
To hear the holy mass I yearn,
For sick now lies my son;
So go, my child, and when thourt
there,
Utter for me a humble prayer,
And of thy sins think ruefully,
That grace may also fall on me.
And in this welcome duty glad,
He quickly left the place;
But ere the village bounds he had
Attained with rapid pace,
The sound of bells struck on his
ear,
From the high belfry ringing clear,
And every sinner, mercy-sent,
Inviting to the sacrament.
Never from praising God refrain
Whereer by thee Hes
found!
He spoke, and stepped into the fane,
But there he heard no sound;
For twas the harvest time,
and now
Glowed in the fields the reapers
brow;
No choristers were gathered there,
The duties of the mass to share.
The matter paused he not to weigh,
But took the sextons
part;
That thing, he said,
makes no delay
Which heavenward guides the
heart.
Upon the priest, with helping hand,
He placed the stole and sacred band,
The vessels he prepared beside,
That for the mass were sanctified.
And when his duties here were oer,
Holding the mass-book, he,
Ministering to the priest, before
The altar bowed his knee,
And knelt him left, and knelt him
right,
While not a look escaped his sight,
And when the holy Sanctus came,
The bell thrice rang he at the name.
And when the priest, bowed humbly
too,
In hand uplifted high,
Facing the altar, showed to view
The present Deity,
The sacristan proclaimed it well,
Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell,
While all knelt down, and beat the
breast,
And with a cross the Host confessed.
The rites thus served he, leaving
none,
With quick and ready wit;
Each thing that in Gods house
is done,
He also practised it.
Unweariedly he labored thus,
Till the Vobiscum Dominus,
When toward the people turned the
priest,
Blessed them,-and so
the service ceased.
Then he disposed each thing again,
In fair and due array;
First purified the holy fane,
And then he went his way,
And gladly, with a mind at rest,
On to the iron-foundry pressed,
Saying the while, complete to be,
Twelve paternosters silently.
And when he saw the furnace smoke,
And saw the workmen stand,
Have ye, ye fellows,
thus he spoke,
Obeyed the Counts
command?
Grinning they ope the orifice,
And point into the fell abyss:
Hes cared for-all
is at an end!
The Count his servants will commend.
The answer to his lord he brought,
Returning hastily,
Who, when his form his notice caught,
Could scarcely trust his eye:
Unhappy one! whence comest
thou?-
Back from the foundry-Strange,
I vow!
Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?-
Twas only, lord, till
I had prayed.
For when I from thy presence
went
(Oh pardon me!) to-day,
As duty bid, my steps I bent
To her whom I obey.
She told me, lord, the mass to hear,
I gladly to her wish gave ear,
And told four rosaries at the shrine,
For her salvation and for thine.
In wonder deep the Count now fell,
And, shuddering, thus spake
he:
And, at the foundry, quickly
tell,
What answer gave they thee?
Obscure the words they answered
in,-
Showing the furnace with a grin:
Hes cared for-all
is at an end!
The Count his servants will commend.
And Robert? interrupted
he,
While deadly pale he stood,-
Did he not, then, fall in
with thee?
I sent him to the wood.-
Lord, neither in the wood
nor field
Was trace of Roberts foot
revealed.-
Then, cried the Count,
with awe-struck mien,
Great God in heaven his judge
hath been!
With kindness he before neer
proved,
He led him by the hand
Up to the Countess,-deeply
moved,-
Who naught could understand.
This child, let him be dear
to thee,
No angel is so pure as he!
Though we may have been counselled
ill,
God and His hosts watch oer
him still.
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