T

REMEN was a growing city, but its ruler, hard and proud,
Insolent in power and riches, all his humble subjects cowed,
Till one day a bold man pleaded to the Count on bended knee:
'Sire, for just a little season set my toiling brethren free!
Let them leave awhile their labour, let them roam the country fair,
Quit the close and crowded city for a breath of purer air;
Or, perchance, their faithful service you will graciously repay,
And a piece of ground assign them from your gardens vast and gay?'
Frowned the Count, and answered, mocking: 'Not a little do you ask!
Well! your prayer shall find a champion, and I'll set him just one task:
He shall march from dawn to sunset, pacing my fair gardens round;
All his footsteps can encircle shall be then the people's ground.'
Morning came, the folk assembled, full of hopefulness and glee,
But their eager eyes no other than the Count himself can see.
Stay! there standeth one beside him, Hans the cripple, small and weak!
'This is he,' the Count cries, scoffing, 'who shall give you what you seek.
Fly! Hans, fly! Around my pleasaunce speed as quickly as you may!'
And the cripple, smiling bravely, starts forthwith upon his way.
All that day, from morn to even, Hans the cripple did his best,
Walking on without cessation, pausing not for food or rest.
Miracle both Count and people deemed the prowess he displayed,
And the tyrant scowled in anger as he saw the progress made.
Faint and weary, for his brethren Hans toiled on till eventide,
Then, amid the people's cheering, knelt, and breathed a prayer, and died.
Feudal days are gone for ever, but in Bremen's ancient town
Tell they still of Hans the hero, who for them his life laid down.