II.

EVIRADNUS.

Eviradnus was growing old apace, The weight of years had left its hoary trace, But still of knights the most renowned was he, Model of bravery and purity. His blood he spared not; ready day or night To punish crime, his dauntless sword shone bright In his unblemished hand; holy and white And loyal all his noble life had been, A Christian Samson coming on the scene. With fist alone the gate he battered down Of Sickingen in flames, and saved the town. 'Twas he, indignant at the honor paid To crime, who with his heel an onslaught made Upon Duke Lupus' shameful monument, Tore down, the statue he to fragments rent; Then column of the Strasburg monster bore To bridge of Wasselonne, and threw it o'er Into the waters deep. The people round Blazon the noble deeds that so abound From Altorf unto Chaux-de-Fonds, and say, When he rests musing in a dreamy way, "Behold, 'tis Charlemagne!" Tawny to see And hairy, and seven feet high was he, Like John of Bourbon. Roaming hill or wood He looked a wolf was striving to do good. Bound up in duty, he of naught complained, The cry for help his aid at once obtained. Only he mourned the baseness of mankind, And--that the beds too short he still doth find. When people suffer under cruel kings, With pity moved, he to them succor brings. 'Twas he defended Alix from her foes As sword of Urraca--he ever shows His strength is for the feeble and oppressed; Father of orphans he, and all distressed! Kings of the Rhine in strongholds were by him Boldly attacked, and tyrant barons grim. He freed the towns--confronting in his lair Hugo the Eagle; boldly did he dare To break the collar of Saverne, the ring Of Colmar, and the iron torture thing Of Schlestadt, and the chain that Haguenau bore. Such Eviradnus was a wrong before, Good but most terrible. In the dread scale Which princes weighted with their horrid tale Of craft and violence, and blood and ill, And fire and shocking deeds, his sword was still God's counterpoise displayed. Ever alert More evil from the wretched to avert, Those hapless ones who 'neath Heaven's vault at night Raise suppliant hands. His lance loved not the plight Of mouldering in the rack, of no avail, His battle-axe slipped from supporting nail Quite easily; 'twas ill for action base To come so near that he the thing could trace. The steel-clad champion death drops all around As glaciers water. Hero ever found Eviradnus is kinsman of the race Of Amadys of Gaul, and knights of Thrace, He smiles at age. For he who never asked For quarter from mankind--shall he be tasked To beg of Time for mercy? Rather he Would girdle up his loins, like Baldwin be. Aged he is, but of a lineage rare; The least intrepid of the birds that dare Is not the eagle barbed. What matters age, The years but fire him with a holy rage. Though late from Palestine, he is not spent,-- With age he wrestles, firm in his intent.