“When the North
Shall kiss the sunset
That will be the end of ruins:
Seek the girdle.”
“Oho!” said Ulenspiegel, “North? Sunset? Girdle? You talk in riddles, gentle spirits.”
Then they sang gleefully:
“North is Holland;
Belgium is West;
Girdle is alliance,
Girdle is friendship!”
“You are wise, gentle spirits,” said Ulenspiegel. Then again they sang gleefully:
“The girdle, poor dear,
Between Holland and Belgium
Will be woven of friendship,
A fair alliance.
Met raedt
En daedt
Met doodt
En bloodt
So would it be,
Were it not for the Scheldt,
Poor dear, were it not for the Scheldt!”
“Ah!” said Ulenspiegel, “such is our lamentable lot! The tears of men and the laughter of Fate!”
“Alliance of blood
And of death,
Were it not for the Scheldt.”
answered the spirits laughingly.
And a mighty hand seized Ulenspiegel and hurled him into space.
