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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.

O, 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,
And said, "Now, Lady of my heart, attend the words I say.

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;
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay,
That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day."

3.

Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer,
"Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here;
And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway,
And be thy Lady's guardian true when thou art far away?""

4.

Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of that have thou no care,
There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair;
The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and my state,
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate.

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,
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow,"

6.

It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him bowne,
And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and with gown;
He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with miniver,
He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed his forehead fair.

7.

"Now hear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine,
And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine;
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my vassal train,
And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again."

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,
His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir,
To whom he spoke right anxiously, "Thou trusty squire to me,
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea?

10.

"To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land,
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band;
And pledge thee for my Lady's faith, till seven long years are gone,
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John."

11.

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot and young,
And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue;
My noble Lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend,
And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end.

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 doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek;
A long adieu be bids to all-hoists top-sails, and away,

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,
Thy Lady and thine heritage another master take.

15.

"Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein,
And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train;
And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair,
This night within thy father's hall she weds Marstetten's heir."

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,

And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame!"

18.

It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd his care;

He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside a rill,

High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill.

VOL. IX. PART II.

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19.

The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound,
And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around;

"I know my father's ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know,
Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his pilgrim's woe."

20.

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew,
So alter'd was his goodly form that none their master knew;
The Baron to the miller said," Good friend, for charity,
Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be?"

21.

The miller answer'd him again, "He knew of little news,
Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom chuse ;
Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word,-
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord.

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 woe 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 woċ;
And to the warder thus he spoke: "Friend, to thy Lady say,
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a day.

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;
And prays for sweet Saint Thomas' sake for harbour and for dole,
And for the sake of Moringer thy noble husband's soul."