By him is Roland ill entreated, He swims in blood, fast ebbs his breath; Scarce can his horn, at such far distance, Call Charlemagne to his assistance: So passed away the knight’s existence, And, with him, sank my dream in death. It was a loud confusèd echo That from my vision wakened me. The legend that she sang was ended, The people heartily commended, And ofttimes shouted: “Bravo! splendid!” Low bow’d the singer gracefully. 17. THE SONG OF THE DUCATS. O my golden ducats dear, Tell me why ye are not here? Are ye with the golden fishes Which within the stream so gaily Leap and splash and wriggle daily? Are ye with the golden flow’rets Which, o’er green fields scattered lightly, In the morning dew gleam brightly? Are ye with the golden bird-kins Which we see in happy chorus In the blue skies hov’ring o’er us? Are ye with the golden planets Which in radiant crowds each even Smile in yonder distant heaven? Ye, alas, my golden ducats, Swim not in the streamlet bright, Sparkle not on meadow green, Hover not in skies serene, Smile not in the heavens by night.-- Creditors, with greedy paws, Hold you safely in their claws. 18. DIALOGUE ON PADERBORN HEATH. Hear’st thou not far music ringing, As of double-bass and fiddle? Many fair ones there are springing Gaily up and down the middle. “You’re mistaken friend, in speaking “Thus of fiddle and its brother; “I but hear young porkers squeaking, “And the grunting of their mother.” Hear’st thou not the forest bugle? Hunters in the chase are straying; Gentle lambs are feeding, frugal Shepherds on their pipes are playing. “Ah, my friend, what you just now heard, “Was not bugles, pipes, or hunters; “I can only see the sow-herd “Slowly driving home his grunters.” Hear’st thou not the distant voices In sweet rivalry contending? Many an angel blest rejoices Strains like these to hear ascending. “Ah, that music sweetly ringing “Is, my friend, no rival chorus; “’Tis but youthful gooseherds, singing “As they drive their geese before us.” Hear’st thou not the church-bells holy, Sweet and clear, with deep emotion? To the village-chapel slowly Wend the people with devotion. “Ah, my friend, the bells ’tis only “Of the cows and oxen also, “Who, with sunken heads and lonely, “Go back to their gloomy stalls so.” See’st thou not the veil just moving? See’st thou not those soft advances? There I see my mistress loving, Humid sorrow in her glances. “She, my friend, who nods so much, is “An old woman, Betsy namely; “Pale and haggard, on her crutches “O’er the meadow limps she lamely.”