Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/Rudiger
Rudiger.
Divers Princes and Noblemen being assembled in a beautiful and fair Palace, which was situate upon the river Rhine, they beheld a boat or small barge make toward the shore, drawn by a Swan in a silver chain, the one end fastened about her neck, the other to the vessel; and in it an unknown soldier, a man of a comely personage and graceful presence, who stept upon the shore; which done, the boat guided by the Swan left him, and floated down the river. This man fell afterward in league with a fair gentlewoman, married her, and by her had many children. After some years, the same Swan came with the same barge unto the same place; the soldier entering into it, was carried thence the way he came, left wife, children and family, and was never seen amongst them after.
Now who can judge this to be other than one of those spirits that are named Incubi? says Thomas Heywood. I have adopted his story, but not his solution, making the unknown soldier not an evil spirit, but one who had purchased happiness of a malevolent being, by the promised sacrifice of his first born child.
RUDIGER.
Bright on the mountain's heathy slopeThe day's last splendors shine,And rich with many a radiant hueGleam gayly on the Rhine.
And many a one from Waldhurst's wallsAlong the river stroll'd.As ruffling o'er the pleasant streamThe evening gales came cold.
So as they stray'd a swan they sawSail stately up and strong,And by a silver chain she drewA little boat along,
Whose streamer to the gentle breezeLong floating fluttered light,Beneath whose crimson canopyThere lay reclin'd a knight.
With arching crest and swelling breastOn sail'd the stately swanAnd lightly up the parting tideThe little boat came on.
And onward to the shore they drewAnd leapt to land the knight,And down the stream the little boatFell soon beyond the sight.
Was never a Knight in Waldhurst's wallsCould with this stranger vie,Was never youth at aught esteem'dWhen Rudiger was by.
Was ever a Maid in Waldhurst's wallsMight match with Margaret,Her cheek was fair, her eyes were dark,Her silken locks like jet.
And many a rich and noble youthHad strove to win the fair,But never a rich or noble youthCould rival Rudiger.
At every tilt and tourney heStill bore away the prize,For knightly feats superior stillAnd knightly courtesies.
His gallant feats, his looks, his love,Soon won the willing fair,And soon did Margaret becomeThe wife of Rudiger.
Like morning dreams of happinessFast roll'd the months away,For he was kind and she was kindAnd who so blest as they?
Yet Rudiger would sometimes sitAbsorb'd in silent thoughtAnd his dark downward eye would seemWith anxious meaning fraught;
But soon he rais'd his looks againAnd smil'd his cares away,And mid the hall of gaietyWas none like him so gay.
And onward roll'd the waning months,The hour appointed came,And Margaret her RudigerHail'd with a father's name.
But silently did RudigerThe little infant see,And darkly on the babe he gaz'dAnd very sad was he.
And when to bless the little babeThe holy Father came,To cleanse the stains of sin awayIn Christ's redeeming name,
Then did the cheek of RudigerAssume a death-pale hue,And on his clammy forehead stoodThe cold convulsive dew;
And faltering in his speech he badeThe Priest the rites delay,Till he could, to right health restor'd,Enjoy the festive day.
When o'er the many-tinted skyHe saw the day decline,He called upon his MargaretTo walk beside the Rhine.
"And we will take the little babe"For soft the breeze that blows,"And the wild murmurs of the stream"Will lull him to repose."
And so together forth they went,The evening breeze was mild,And Rudiger upon his armPillowed the sweet child.
And many a one from Waldhurst's walls,Along the banks did roam,But soon the evening wind came cold,And all betook them home.
Yet Rudiger in silent moodAlong the banks would roam,Nor aught could Margaret prevailTo turn his footsteps home.
"Oh turn thee—turn thee Rudiger,"The rising mists behold,"The evening wind is damp and chill,"The little babe is cold!"
"Now hush thee—hush thee Margaret,"The mists will do no harm,"And from the wind the little babe"Lies sheltered on my arm."
"Oh turn thee—turn thee Rudiger,"Why onward wilt thou roam?"The moon is up, the night is cold,"And we are far from home."
He answered not, for now he sawA swan come sailing strong,And by a silver chain she drewA little boat along.
To shore they came and to the boatFast leapt he with the child,And in leapt Margaret—breathless nowAnd pale with fear and wild.
With arching crest and swelling breastOn sail'd the stately swan,And lightly down the rapid tideThe little boat went on.
The full-orb'd moon that beam'd aroundPale splendor thro' the night,Cast through the crimson canopyA dim-discoloured light.
And swiftly down the hurrying streamIn silence still they sail,And the long streamer fluttering fastFlapp'd to the heavy gale.
And he was mute in sullen thought.And she was mute with fear,Nor sound but of the parting tideBroke on the listening ear.
The little babe began to cry,Then Margaret rais'd her head,And with a quick and hollow voice"Give me the child" she said.
"Now hush thee, hush thee Margaret!"Nor my poor heart distress—"I do but pay perforce the price"Of former happiness.
"And hush thee too, my little babe!"Thy cries so feeble cease:"Lie still, lie still;—a little while"And thou shalt be at peace."
So as he spake to land they drew,And swift he stept on shore,And him behind did MargaretClose follow evermore.
It was a place all desolate,Nor house nor tree was there,And there a rocky mountain roseBarren, and bleak, and bare.
And at its base a cavern yawn'd,No eye its depth may view,For in the moon-beam shining roundThat darkness darker grew.
Cold Horror crept thro' Margaret's blood,Her heart it paus'd with fear,When Rudiger approach'd the caveAnd cried, "lo I am here!"
A deep sepulchral sound the caveReturn'd "lo I am here!"And black from out the cavern gloomTwo giant arms appear.
And Rudiger approach'd and heldThe little infant nigh;Then Margaret shriek'd, and gather'd thenNew powers from agony.
And round the baby fast and closeHer trembling arms she folds,And with a strong convulsive graspThe little infant holds.
"Now help me, Jesus!" loud she cries,And loud on God she calls;Then from the grasp of RudigerThe little infant falls.
And loud he shriek'd, for now his frameThe huge black arms clasp'd round,And dragg'd the wretched RudigerAdown the dark profound.1796.