Of them we speak no longer;
we now will let you hear
Yet more about the maidens:
how hope their lot did cheer
Who on a far-off seashore
must wearily toil at washing:
Gudrun and Hildeburg
must wash all day on the sands where waves were dashing.
’Twas the time of springtide fasting,
and at the noon of day.
To them a swan came floating;
thereat Gudrun ’gan say:
“O bird so fair and lovely,
such pain for me thou art feeling,
That now thou hither speedest
from a far-off land, across the water sailing.”
Then to her in answer
spake the friendly swan,
Although a God-sent angel,
in speech most like a man:
“Words from God I bring you;
if you for this be seeking,
Tidings I give of your kindred;
of these, most high-born maid, would I be speaking.”
When the lovely maiden
his speech so wondrous heard,
Scarce could she believe it,
that thus an untamed bird,
Now, within her hearing,
in tones like these had spoken.
While to him she listened,
it seemed that his words from the mouth of a man had broken.
Then said the bird-like angel:
“Hopeful you now may be,
Homeless, sorrowing maiden;
gladness shall come to thee.
If you would hear of your birthland,
listen while I tell you;
From there I bring you tidings,
for God hath sent me, of your woes to heal you.”
At this, Gudrun, the fair one,
upon the sands down fell;
Crossing her arms, the maiden
her lowly prayers did tell.
Then she said to Hildeburg:
“God hath us in his keeping,
And help to us has granted;
we now no more shall sorrow know, nor weeping.”
To the bird then said the maiden:
“Christ has sent thee here
To us, poor homeless maidens,
our heavy hearts to cheer;
Good and trusted harbinger,
tidings tell yet other:
Is now Queen Hilda living?
Of poor Gudrun is she the much-loved mother.”
The Heaven-sent bird thus answered:
“This can I say to thee;
Hilda, thy queenly mother,
in health did I lately see.
To search for thee already
her warriors she has banded;
Such throngs no kin or widow,
seeking for friends, on foeman’s shore e’er landed.”
Then spake the high-born maiden:
“Good tidings thou dost bear:
Be thou with me not weary,
still more I fain would hear.
Lives yet my brother Ortwin,
as king in Ortland dwelling,
And Herwic, my betrothèd?
’Twould gladden me could’st thou this news be telling.”
The bird-like angel answered:
“That can I gladly tell;
Herwic and young King Ortwin
are both alive and well.
Upon the swelling billows,
that rose and sank unending,
I saw those knightly sailors;
each with even stroke to his oar was bending.”
She said: “This tell me also,
if ’tis known to thee,
Whether Morunc and Irold
are now upon the sea,
And hither come to seek me;
the truth I fain would gather.
Gladly I would see them,
for they are kin to Hettel, who was my father.”
To her the bird thus answered:
“That can I tell you, too;
Morunc, and with him Irold,
I saw, in search of you.
They to this land are coming;
their help will soon be given
To fight for you, fair lady,
and many a helmet will by them be riven.”
Then spake the winged angel:
“I bid you now farewell,
And leave you in God’s keeping,
for work awaits me still.
I overstay my errand
to linger here, yet speaking.”
Then from their sight he faded,
and left the maidens’ hearts well-nigh to breaking.
Then said Hilda’s daughter:
“My sorrows none can know;
Much that I wished to ask thee,
now must I forego.
For the sake of Christ, I beg thee,
ere thou alone dost leave me,
Poor and wretched maiden,
that freedom from my woes thou yet wilt give me.”
Before her eyes he floated,
and once again he spake:
“Ere yet we two are parted,
and hence my way I take,
If I in aught can help you,
of that I will not weary,
And, since through Christ you ask it,
to tell you of your kin will longer tarry.”
She said: “I fain were hearing,
if thou the truth hast learned,
If Horant, lord of Denmark,
his way has hither turned,
And with him leads his kinsmen?
They leave me here forsaken.
Knowing him brave and daring,
I would my lonely lot his care might waken.”
“From Denmark sailing hither,
Horant, your kinsman, comes;
He to war is leading
his followers from their homes.
The banner of Queen Hilda
aloft in his hand he is bearing;
’Tis thus the Hegeling warriors
now the Norman Hartmut’s land are nearing.”
Gudrun then asked him further:
“This would I also hear:
Lives Wâ-te still of Sturmland?
If so, no more I fear.
We all might then be happy,
if thou could’st this be telling—
That under the flag of my mother
he and the aged Fru-te are hither sailing.”
To her the angel answered:
“Hither comes in haste
Wâ-te the old from Sturmland.
He in his hand holds fast
The strong and guiding rudder,
and Fru-te’s ship is steering.
Truer friends or better
you ne’er need wish their swords for you were bearing.”
Once more the bird was ready
upon his way to go;
Then said the wretched maiden:
“I still am full of woe;
And now to know am longing—
if life such bliss can lend me—
When I, poor homeless maiden,
shall see my mother’s knights, whom she doth send me.”
The angel answered quickly:
“Your happiness is near;
To-morrow morning early,
will two brave knights be here.
Both are true and upright,
and falsehood ne’er will tell you;
Whatever news they bring you
you well may trust, and never will it fail you.”
At last the heavenly angel
hence in truth must go:
From him the homeless maidens
sought no more to know.
In mind they ever wavered,
’twixt hope and fear still tossing;
Where their helpers lingered
they could not know, yet trust were never losing.
Lazily and slowly
they washed the livelong day;
Of knights sent there by Hilda,
who now were on their way
From over the Hegeling border,
busily they chatted:
Gudrun’s good, faithful kinsmen
were by the long-lost maids uneasily awaited.
Each day must have its ending;
to the castle now must go
The weary, homesick maidens.
They there must harshness know
From evil-minded Gerlind,
who their lives still harrowed;
A day went by but seldom
that she scolded them not, nor still their bondage narrowed.
Thus she spoke to the maidens:
“Who gave the word to you
That you might wash so slowly
my clothes and linen, too?
All the things I gave you
must be quickly whitened;
’Twere best that you be careful,
you else shall weep, and for your lives be frightened.”
Then answered her young Hildeburg:
“Our work we ever mind;
Truly you ought, fair lady,
to be to us more kind.
We oft are almost freezing,
with water o’er us splashing;
If only the winds were warmer,
we might for you far better then be washing.”
Grimly answered Gerlind,
and roughly them did twit:
“Whatever be the weather,
my work you may not slight.
Early must you be washing,
nor rest till night be knowing;
To-morrow morn, at daybreak,
you from my room must down to the beach be going.
“I ween you know already
that Holytide is near;
Palm-Sunday soon is coming,
and guests will then be here:
If to ill-washed clothing
my knights shall then be treated,
Never in kingly castle
to those who washed have woes like yours been meted.”
Then the maidens left her;
they laid aside, all wet,
The clothing they were wearing—
they better care should get.
All they had known of kindness
for them no longer lasted,
And soon for this they sorrowed,
for bread and water now was all they tasted.
Now the downcast maidens
for sleep had sought their bed;
But this was not the softest,
and each one, in her need,
A dirty shirt was wearing.
Thus was Gerlind showing
Her care and kindness for them,
on benches hard a pillow ne’er bestowing.
Never Gudrun, poor maiden,
on a harder bed had lain;
All were tired with watching
till day should dawn again.
They had but broken slumber;
I ween, they oft bethought them
How soon the knights were coming,
of whom the angel-bird the news had brought them.
Soon as the morning lightened,
Hildeburg the good,
Erst from Galicia stolen,
at the window gazing stood;
All night she slept but little,
but on her bed lay tossing.
She saw that snow had fallen,
and hope the heart-sick maid was well-nigh losing.
Then spake the hapless maiden:
“To wash we now must go.
Should God not change the weather,
and we, in storm and snow,
To-day must stand a-washing,
before the evening cometh
We, all chilled and barefoot,
shall dead be found, while us the cold benumbeth.”
By hope they yet were gladdened,
e’en as they well might be,
That those sent out by Hilda
they ere night should see.
When the lovely maidens
upon this thought were dwelling,
It made them now more happy,
and lighter was the pain their hearts were feeling.
Then said Hilda’s daughter:
“My friend, you should beseech
The stern, ill-minded Gerlind,
that on the pebbly beach
Shoes she will allow us;
she may herself be learning
That if we go there barefoot
we soon shall freeze, and there our death be earning.”
The maidens then went seeking
King Ludwig and his queen.
He, in sleep held fondly,
in Gerlind’s arms was seen;
Both were sunk in slumber,
and the maids, their anger fearing,
Dared not them to waken:
erelong Gudrun yet greater woe was bearing.
The weeping of the maidens
by the sleeping queen was heard,
Who quick began to chide
them with many a surly word:
“Why, you heedless maidens,
are you not to the seashore going,
There to wash my clothing,
and rinse them with clean water o’er them flowing?”
Then said Gudrun, in sorrow:
“I know not where to go,
For in the night has fallen
a deep and heavy snow.
That we by death be stricken
unless you now are willing,
Do not send us washing;
to stand without our shoes will us be killing.”
To her the she-wolf answered;
“That I do not fear;
Now to the shore betake you,
or weal or woe to bear.
If you be slow in washing,
my wrath may you be dreading;
E’en if you die, what care I?”
At this the hopeless maids more tears were shedding.
Taking then the clothing,
they went to the water’s brink:
“Of this,” said Gudrun,
“God willing, I will make you think.”
Then, in the cold, barefooted,
through the snow they waded;
The very high-born maidens,
forsaken in their woe, were worn and faded.
Down to the beach they plodded,
as was their wont before,
Bearing the clothing with them
to the bleak and sandy shore.
They once more were standing,
over the washing stooping;
Ever they were thinking
of their sorry plight, and sadly were they hoping.
Often now, and earnestly,
over the watery waste,
While they toiled and sorrowed,
longing looks they cast;
Still of those now dreaming
sent by the queen to free them,
Who o’er the sea were sailing.
The high-born maidens hoped erelong to see them.