The Beginning of the Story - Page 6 of 25

81   Values supreme are trampled nil;
Sense, Reason, laid inert and still;
Office or Trust is heeded ill;
The Breath, renounced with utter will.

82   My fate perverse thus ending low
Should a mirror's value so
That lookers-on may never know
This plight of mine – O crushing woe!

83   Tears, thereupon, bedimmed his eye;
Sheathing his lance, he heaved a sigh.
Just then, as if to make reply,
A moaning came from somewhere nigh.

84   The warrior, startled at the sound,
Cast many a searching glance around;
Then listened close, when naught he found;
Shortly, a new sigh did resound.

85   The valiant Moor's ^[13] amazement grew:
Weeps in this lonesome woodland who?
And where the sighs seemed to ensue,
He, all attentive, nearer drew.

86   Shortly, he overheard this moan:
'Dear sire whose shelt'ring love I'd known,
Why snapped your life before my own
And left me mid these griefs alone? ^[14]

87   When brooding o'er the past, I dwell
On how in wicked hands you fell,
Your end I seem to picture well,
A doom too horrorous to tell!

88   On you what spite would not spent
By Adolph, Count of brutal bent?
Model of good the realm's extent,
On you, all fury would be vent.

89   It seems your form returns anew
Here for your anguished son to view,
Broken and bent, and mangled too,
By the same headsman, treacherous through.

90   Your fresh all torn, the bones flayed bare,
Arms, body, head – by vile hands were
Flung all about; and none was there
To bury you with pitying care.

91   The friends and followers you knew,
With traitors pledged, turn enemies too;
Fear of chastisement stays the true,
The loyal ones, from burying you.

92   This far, my sire, your voice is sped,
When with the blade above your head,
You called to Heaven, a pray'r you said
That I be spared those claws of dread.

93   You'd rather that I were enrolled
Among the corpses lying cold
And thus escape Count Adolph's hold,
Than beast more brute a hundredfold.

94   But prayer was not fully prayed
When sudden felt your neck the blade;
Then 'Farewell, som', your lips essayed,
Whereat life slipped into the shade.

95   Father of mine, when I recall
Your lavish love, your bounty and all,
O to the heart, what smarting gall,
Whence leap the tears, profuse to fall.

96   Your place paternal, none can best,
Dear lap that reared me and caressed;
The least ache on my face impressed
Evoked your tears, yourself distressed.