Yet soon his sense collected, Brought doubts within his breast: These magic arts detected, A horror him possessed. His children fade in air-- Mocks of infernal might; His young friends vanished were-- He could not check their flight. Yes, these his princely trust, Late yielded to his power, He now desert them must, Or share their evil hour. Faith, duty to his prince, Is still his watchword here; He still thinks of him, since His last sad look and tear. So boldly doth he now Advance his foot and stand, Arm'd proof to overthrow The evil powers at hand. The wild musician comes; Eckart his sword has ta'en; But ah! those magic tunes His mortal strength enchain! From out the mountain's side Come thousand dwarfish shapes, That threaten and deride, And leap and grin like apes. The princes fair are gone, And mingled with the swarm; True Eckart is alone, And faint his valiant arm. The rout of revellers grows, Gathering from east to west, And gives him no repose-- Around--before--abreast. True Eckart's 'mid the din, His might is lost and gone; The hellish powers must win-- He of their slaves be one. For now they reach the hill Whence those wild notes are heard; The dwarfish fiends stand still, The hills their sides uprear'd, And made a mighty void, Whence fiercer sprites glower'd grim. "What now will us betide?" He cried:--none answered him. Again he grasped his sword; He said he must prove true: Eckart has spoke the word, And rushed amid the crew. He saved the princes dear; They fled and reach'd the plain; But see, the fiend is near-- His imps their malice strain. Though Eckart's strength is gone, He sees the children safe; And cried, "I fight alone-- Now let their malice chafe!" He fought--he fell--he died Upon that well-fought field; His old heroic pride Both scorn'd to fly or yield. "True to the sire and son, The bulwark of their throne, Proud feats hath Eckart done; There's not a knight, not one, Of all my court and land," Cried the young duke full loud, "Would make so bold a stand. Our honour to uphold. For life, and land, and all, To Eckart true we owe; He snatch'd our souls from thrall, For all it work'd him woe." And soon the story ran Through Burgundy's broad land, That who so venture can To take his dangerous stand Upon that mountain-side, Where in that contest hard True Eckart fought and died, Shall see his shade keep guard,