The people shall regard thee
As wert thou of my line;
And could I more reward thee,
How gladly were it thine!”
And when we heard the same,
We joy’d as did our prince;
And Trusty Eckart is the name
We’ve call’d him ever since.
The voice of an old peasant sounded over the rocks, as he sang this ballad; and the Trusty Eckart sat in his grief, on the declivity of the hill, and wept aloud. His youngest boy was standing by him: “Why weepest thou aloud, my father Eckart?” said he: “Art thou not great and strong, taller and braver than any other man? Whom, then, art thou afraid of?”
Meanwhile the Duke of Burgundy was moving homewards to his Tower. Burgundy was mounted on a stately horse, with splendid trappings; and the gold and jewels of the princely Duke were glittering in the evening sun; so that little Conrad could not sate himself with viewing and admiring the magnificent procession. The Trusty Eckart rose, and looked gloomily over it; and young Conrad, when the hunting train had disappeared, struck up this stave:
On good steed,
Sword and shield
Wouldst thou wield,
With spear and arrow;
Then had need
That the marrow
In thy arm,
That thy heart and blood,
Be good,
To save thy head from harm.
The old man clasped his son to his bosom, looking with wistful tenderness on his clear blue eyes. “Didst thou hear that good man’s song?” said he.
“Ay, why not?” answered Conrad: “he sang it loud enough, and thou art the Trusty Eckart thyself, so I liked to listen.”
