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And many a rich and noble youth

Had strove to win the fair, But never a rich and noble youth

Could rival Rudiger.

At every tilt and tourney he

Still bore away the prize ; For knightly feats superior still,

And knightly courtesies.

His gallant feats, his looks, his love,

Soon won the willing fair ; And soon did Margaret become

The wife of Rudiger.

Like morning' dreams of happiness

Fast roll’d the months away ; For he was kind and she was kind,

And who so blest as they ?

Yet Rudiger would sometimes sit

Absorb’d in silent thought, And his dark downward eye would seem

With anxious meaning fraught:

But soon he raised his looks again,

And smiled his cares away, And mid the hall of gaiety Was none like him so gay.

And onward roll’d the waning months,

The hour appointed came, And Margaret her Rudiger

Hail'd with a father's name,

But silently did Rudiger

The little infant see; And darkly on the babe he gazed, -,

A gloomy man was he.

And when to bless the little babe

The holy Father came,
To cleanse the stains of sin away

In Christ's redeeming name,

Then did the cheek of Rudiger

Assume a death-pale hue,
And on his clammy forehead stood

The cold convulsive dew;

And faltering in his speech he bade

The Priest the rites delay, Till he could, to right health restored,

Enjoy the festive day.

When o'er the many-tinted sky

He saw the day decline, He called upon his Margaret

To walk beside the Rhine ;

“ And we will take the little babe,

“ For soft the breeze that blows, “ And the mild murmurs of the stream

6 Will lull him to repose.”

And so together forth they went,

The evening breeze was mild, And Rudiger upon his arm

Pillow'd the little child.

And many a one from Waldhurst's walls

Along the banks did roam, But soon the evening wind came cold,

And all betook them home.

Yet Rudiger in silent mood

Along the banks would roam, Nor aught could Margaret prevail

To turn his footsteps home.

“ Oh turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger!

“ The rising mists behold, “ The evening wind is damp and chill,

“ The little babe is cold !"

“ Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret,

“ The mists will do no harm, “ And from the wind the little babe

“ Lies shelter'd on my arm.”

« Oh turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger !

“ Why onward wilt thou roam ? “ The moon is up, the night is cold,

« And we are far from home.”

He answer'd not ; for now he saw

A swan come sailing strong, And by a silver chain he drew

A little boat along.

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