"Fair sir, thou
art far from home, I ween,
Wherefore art thou
rushing, canst thou not have seen
The great fire that
lights up the northern sky?
Surely you know to
go on is to die?"
"Be quiet, thou
varlet, and in haste let me go!
Thou'st never met
villain, nor fought a dread foe.
I go to find him
that hast set that great fire..
If I am too late,
then knights are the squires.
For that is the work
of an army, I trow,
And even now brave men are fighting the foe.
'Tis fated that none
will believe this dread fact,
Unless I come soon,
and tell that one has broken the pact."
Then the peasant let
knight go, and onward he flew
Towards the great
fire, and the cold night wind blew.
And the peasant,
face ashen, returned to his home,
Where his family lay
sleeping, unaware of this doom.
