"In Paris Lady Alda sits, Sir Roland's destined bride. With her three hundred maidens, to tend her, at her side; Alike their robes and sandals all, and the braid that binds their hair, And alike the meal, in their Lady's hall, the whole three hundred share. Around her, in her chair of state, they all their places hold; A hundred weave the web of silk, and a hundred spin the gold, And a hundred touch their gentle lutes to sooth that Lady's pain, As she thinks on him that's far away with the host of Charlemagne. Lulled by the sound, she sleeps, but soon she wakens with a scream; And, as her maidens gather round, she thus recounts her dream: 'I sat upon a desert shore, and from the mountain nigh, Right toward me, I seemed to see a gentle falcon fly; But close behind an eagle swooped, and struck that falcon down, And with talons and beak he rent the bird, as he cowered beneath my gown.' The chief of her maidens smiled, and said; 'To me it doth not seem That the Lady Alda reads aright the boding of her dream. Thou art the falcon, and thy knight is the eagle in his pride, As he comes in triumph from the war, and pounces on his bride.' The maiden laughed, but Alda sighed, and gravely shook her head. 'Full rich,' quoth she, 'shall thy guerdon be, if thou the truth hast said.' 'Tis morn; her letters, stained with blood, the truth too plainly tell, How, in the chase of Ronceval, Sir Roland fought and fell." _Lady Alda's Dreams_ (Sir Edmund Head's tr.). [Sidenote: Legend of Roland and Hildegarde.] A later legend, which has given rise to sundry poems, connects the name of Roland with one of the most beautiful places on the Rhine. Popular tradition avers that he sought shelter one evening in the castle of Drachenfels, where he fell in love with Hildegarde, the beautiful daughter of the Lord of Drachenfels. The sudden outbreak of the war in Spain forced him to bid farewell to his betrothed, but he promised to return as soon as possible to celebrate their wedding. During the campaign, many stories of his courage came to Hildegarde's ears, and finally, after a long silence, she heard that Roland had perished at Roncesvalles. Broken-hearted, the fair young mourner spent her days in tears, and at last prevailed upon her father to allow her to enter the convent on the island of Nonnenworth, in the middle of the river, and within view of the gigantic crag where the castle ruins can still be seen.