“Ah,” said the Duke, repenting,
“My breast is foul within;
I tremble, while lamenting,
Lest God requite my sin.
My truest friend I’ve banish’d,
His children have I slain,
In wrath from me he vanish’d,
As foe he comes again.
To me he was devoted,
Through good report and bad;
My rights he still promoted,
The truest man I had.
Me he can never pardon,
I kill’d his children dear;
This night, to pay my guerdon,
I’ th’ wood he lurks, I fear.
This does my conscience teach me,
A threat’ning voice within;
If here to-night he reach me,
I die a child of sin.”
Said Eckart: “The beginning
Of our woes is guilt;
My grief is for thy sinning,
And for the blood thou’st spilt.
And that the man will meet thee
Is likewise surely true;
Yet fear not, I entreat thee,
He’ll harm no hair of you.”
Thus were they going forward talking, when another person in the forest met them; it was Wolfram, the Duke’s Squire, who had long been looking for his master. The dark night was still lying over them, and no star twinkled from between the wet black clouds. The Duke felt weaker, and longed to reach some lodging, where he might sleep till day; besides, he was afraid that he might meet with Eckart, who stood like a spectre before his soul. He imagined he should never see the morning; and shuddered anew when the wind again rustled through the high trees, and the storm came down from the hollows of the mountains, and went rushing over his head.
