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| O’ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, | |
| Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay, | |
| The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne’er been bent | |
| By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. | |
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| “They come around me here, and say my days of life are o’er, | 5 |
| That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more; | |
| They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now, that I, | |
| Their own liege lord and master born,—that I, ha! ha! must die. | |
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| “And what is death? I ’ve dared him oft before the Paynim spear,— | |
| Think ye he ’s entered at my gate, has come to seek me here? | 10 |
| I ’ve met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot,— | |
| I ’ll try his might—I ’ll brave his power; defy, and fear him not. | |
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| “Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin,— | |
| Bid each retainer arm with speed,—call every vassal in, | |
| Up with my banner on the wall,—the banquet board prepare; | 15 |
| Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!” | |
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| An hundred hands were busy then—the banquet forth was spread— | |
| And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread, | |
| While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted wall, | |
| Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o’er the proud old Gothic hall. | 20 |
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| Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed retainers poured, | |
| On through the portal’s frowning arch, and thronged around the board. | |
| While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state, | |
| Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. | |
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| “Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine; | 25 |
| There ’s life and strength in every drop,—thanksgiving to the vine! | |
| Are ye all there, my vassals true?—mine eyes are waxing dim; | |
| Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim. | |
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| “You’re there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword | |
| And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board; | 30 |
| I hear it faintly:—Louder yet!—What clogs my heavy breath? | |
| Up all, and shout for Rudiger, ‘Defiance unto Death!’” | |
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| Bowl rang to bowl—steel clang to steel—and rose a deafening cry | |
| That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high:— | |
| “Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?—Slaves, traitors! have ye flown? | 35 |
| Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone! | |
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| “But I defy him:—let him come!” Down rang the massy cup, | |
| While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half way up; | |
| And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head, | |
| There in his dark, carved oaken chair Old Rudiger sat,—dead. | 40 |
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