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Rh None dared with him the strife of keen-edged swords, By one accord the victor's garland yielding. But not alone amid Crusading hosts He with the sword had glorified his youth; For many Christian graces him adorn, Poverty, humbleness, of earth disdain.

But Konrad shone not in the courtly crowd By polished speech, by well-turned reverence; Nor e'er his sword for vile advantage sold To service of disputing barons. He Had consecrated to the cloister walls His youthful years; all plaudits he disdained, And ruler's place, even higher, sweeter meeds. Nor minstrel's hymn, nor beauty's fair regard Could speak to his cold spirit. Wallenrod Listens unmoved to praise, and looks afar On lovely cheeks, enchanting discourse flies.

Had Nature made him thus unfeeling, proud? Or age? For albeit young in years, his locks Were grey already, withered were his looks, And sufferings sealed by age.—Twere hard to guess. He would at times divide the sports of youth,