THE NOBLE MORINGER, AN ANCIENT BALLAD, TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. [THE original of these verses occurs in a collection of German popular songs, entitled Sammlung Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published by Messrs Busching and Von der Hagen, both, and more especially the last, distinguished for their acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and legendary history of Germany. In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, it is stated to have been extracted from a manuscript Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to Saint Leonard in Weisenhorn, which bears the date 1533; and the song is stated by the author to have been generally sung in the neighbourhood at that early period. Thomann, as quoted by the German Editor, seems faithfully to have believed the event he narrates. He quotes tomb-stones and obituaries to prove the existence of the personages of the ballad, and discovers that there actually died on the 11th May 1349, a Lady Von Neuffen, Countess of Marstetten, who was by birth of the house of Moringer. This Lady he supposes to have been Moringer's daughter mentioned in the ballad. He quotes the same authority for the death of Berckhold Von Neuffen in the same year. The editors, on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of Professor Smith of Ulm, who, from the language of the ballad, ascribes its date to the fifteenth century. The legend itself turns on an incident not peculiar to Germany, and which perhaps was not unlikely to happen in more instances than one, when crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their disconsolate dames received no tidings of their fate. A story very similar in circumstances, but without the miraculous machinery of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient Lords of Haigh-hall in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of the late Countess of Balcarras; and the particulars are represented on stained glass upon a window in that ancient manor house.] 1. Ọ, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day, It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay, He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was as sweet as May, 2. "'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that's mine; 3. Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer, 4. Out spoke the noble Moringer, "Of that have thou no care, 5. "As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight, When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight; And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were sorrow now, 6. It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him bowne, 7. "Now hear," he said, "Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine, 8. The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he, "Abide, my Lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me; That woman's faith's a brittle trust-Seven twelvemonths did'st thou say? I'll pledge me for no Lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day,” 9. The noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart was full of care, 10. "To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land, 11. Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot and young, 12, "Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride; And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year." 13. The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day. 14. It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept, When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept, And whisper'd in his ear a voice, ""Tis time, Sir Knight, to wake, 15. "Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein, 16. It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, "Oh would that I had ne'er been born! what tidings have I heard? To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, But God, that ere a squire untrue should wed my Lady fair! 17. "O good Saint Thomas hear," he pray'd, "my patron Saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow! My wife he brings to infamy, that was so pure of name, 18. It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. VOL. IX. PART II. 2 i 19. The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, "I know my father's ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know, 20. He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew, 21. The miller answer'd him again, " He knew of little news, 22. "Of him I held this little mill, which wins me living free, God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me; And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole." 23. It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, And stood before the bolted gate a wee and weary man; "Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take, To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break!" 24. His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe; 25. "I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is well nigh done, And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's sun; I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed and dole, And for the sake of Moringer's, her once loved husband's soul." 26. It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, "A pilgrim worn and travel-toil'd stands at the castle door; 27. The Lady's gentle heart was moved, "Do up the gate," she said, 28. It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad, It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; "And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said, "though from a man of sin, That the true Lord stands here once more his castle gate within." 29. Then up the hall paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow, 30. Now spent was day and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour, 31. Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, 32. "Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pilgrim sung, "Nor golden mead, nor garment gay unlocks her heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine. 33. "But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-haired, 34. It was the noble Lady there this woeful lay that hears, And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm'd with tears; And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. |