Volume Ii Part 53 (1/2)
Now on that day the Beggars, having looked victoriously upon the cup, said to Ulenspiegel:
”Thou hast thy nose always in the wind to smell out news of terra firma; thou knowest all the adventures of the war: sing them to us. And Lamme shall beat the drum the while and the pretty little fifer shall squeal to the measure of thy song.”
And Ulenspiegel said:
”One bright cool day in May, Ludwig of Na.s.sau, thinking to enter into Mons, finds not his footmen nor his horse. A few trusty men held a gate open and a drawbridge down, that he might have the town. But the citizens seized the gate and the drawbridge. Where are the soldiers of Count Louis? The citizens are about to hoist up the bridge. Count Louis winds his horn.”
And Ulenspiegel sang:
”Where are thy footmen and thy horse?
They are in the woods, treading all down: Dry twigs, and lily of the valley in bloom.
Master Sun makes all s.h.i.+ne, Their ruddy warrior faces, The polished rumps of their horses; Count Ludwig winds his horn: They hear it. Softly beat the drum.
”Full trot, bridle loose!
Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud: Water spout of clinking iron; They fly, the heavy hors.e.m.e.n!
Haste! haste! to the rescue!
The bridge rises.... Send the spur Into the chargers' b.l.o.o.d.y flanks.
The bridge rises: The town is lost!
”They are before it. Is it too late?
Ride like the wind! Bridle loose!
Guitoy de Chaumont on his Spanish steed Leaps on the bridge that falls again.
The town is won! Do ye hear Along the paven streets of Mons Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud, Waterspout of clinking iron!
”Hurrah for Chaumont and his Spanish steed!
Sound the clarion of joy, beat upon the drum: 'Tis the hay month, fragrant are the meadows; The lark mounts up, singing in the sky: Long live the bird of freedom!
Beat upon the drum of glory.
Hurrah for Chaumont and the Spanish steed.
Hey there. Drink up there.
The town is won!... Long live the Beggar!”
And the Beggars sang on the s.h.i.+ps: ”Christ look down upon thy soldiers. Furbish our weapons, Lord. Long live the Beggar!”
And Nele, smiling, made the fife squeal amain, and Lamme beat the drum, and aloft, towards the sky, G.o.d's temple, there were raised golden cups and hymns of liberty. And the waves, like sirens, bright and cool about the s.h.i.+ps, murmured in harmony.
X
One day in the month of August, a hot and heavy day, Lamme was plunged in melancholy. His jolly drum was dumb and sleeping, and he had thrust the drumsticks into the mouth of his satchel. Ulenspiegel and Nele, smiling with amorous delight, were warming themselves in the sun: the look-out men stationed in the tops were whistling or singing, searching over the wide ocean if they could not see some prey on the horizon. Tres-Long kept questioning them; they still replied: ”Niets,” nothing.