IV.

Three mournful days the mother prays, And weeps the children's fate; The prince in vain has scoured the plain-- A sound is at the gate.

The mother hears, her head she rears, She lifts her eager finger-- 'Rejoice, rejoice, 't is Albrecht's voice, Open! Oh, wherefore linger?'

See, cap in hand the woodman stand-- Mother, no more of weeping-- His hound well tried is at his side, Before him Albrecht leaping,

Cries, 'Father dear, my friend is here! My mother! Oh, my mother! The giant knight he put to flight, The good dog tore the other.'

Oh! who the joy that greets the boy, Or who the thanks may tell, Oh how they hail the woodman's tale, How he had 'trilled him well!'

[Footnote: Trillen, to shake; a word analogous to our rill, to shake the voice in singing]

'I trilled him well,' he still will tell In homely phrase his story, To those who sought to know how wrought An unarmed hand such glory.

That mother sad again is glad, Her home no more bereft; For news is brought Ernst may be sought Within the Devil's Cleft.

That cave within, these men of sin Had learnt their leader's fall, The prince to sell they proffered well At price of grace to all.

Another day and Earnest lay, Safe on his mother's breast; Thus to her sorrow a gladsome morrow Had brought her joy and rest.

The giant knight was judged aright, Sentenced to death he lay; The elector mild, since safe his child, Sent forth the doom to stay.

But all to late, and o'er the gate Of Freiburg's council hall Sir Konrad's head, with features dread, The traitor's eyes appal.

The scullion Hans who wrought their plans, And oped the window grate, Whose faith was sold for Konrad's gold, He met a traitor's fate