They dug and delved with right good will,
Praying, and chanting, and cursing still,
And came two fathoms deep in the ground,
But never a bone of Sir Burkhardt they found,
Nor aught save a broken, crumbling stone,
An altar raised to an evil one,
Carved with symbols wicked and weird,
Long ere the blessed Cross was upreared.
Then the brawny monks of Lindenhein
Smote it to pieces, and brayed it fine,
Sprinkled the dust with holy showers,
Cursed and banished the evil powers,
And reared on the place where the altar stood,
A shrine to our Lady in the Wood.
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In Lichtenstein a pale young nun
Looks out wearily in the sun.
And in Hoheneck a faithful frère
Wrestles for Burkhardt’s soul in prayer.
Midsummer comes and brings the rose,
Yule-tide comes with its shrouding snows.
But earth’s delights and the joyance high
Of love and beauty pass them by.
Unheeded the while with bitter dole,
They plead for Burkhardt von Keller’s soul.
