"Thus, too, had I chosen One knight for mine own, Him my eye had selected, Him prized I alone: But other fair ladies Have envied my joy, And why? for I sought not Their bliss to destroy.

"As to thee, lovely summer, Returns the birds' strain, As on yonder green linden The leaves spring again, So constant doth grief At my eyes overflow, And wilt not thou, dearest, Return to me now?"

"Yes, come, my own hero, All others desert!

When first my eye saw thee, How graceful thou wert; How fair was thy presence, How graceful, how bright!

Then think of me only, My own chosen knight!"

There sat upon the linden-tree A bird and sang its strain; So sweet it sang, that, as I heard, My heart went back again: It went to one remembered spot, I saw the rose-trees grow, And thought again the thoughts of love There cherished long ago.

A thousand years to me it seems Since by my fair I sat, Yet thus to have been a stranger long Was not my choice, but fate: Since then I have not seen the flowers, Nor heard the birds' sweet song; My joys have all too briefly pa.s.sed, My griefs been all too long.

--Tr. by Taylor.

WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE. Early nineteenth Century.

UNDER THE LINDEN.

Under the linden On the meadow Where our bed arrange'd was, There now you may find e'en In the shadow Broken flowers and crushe'd gra.s.s.

Near the woods, down in the vale Tandaradi!

Sweetly sang the nightingale.

I, poor sorrowing one, Came to the prairie, Look, my lover had gone before.

There he received me-- Gracious Mary!-- That now with bliss I am br.i.m.m.i.n.g o'er.

Kissed he me? Ah, thousand hours!

Tandaradi!

See my mouth, how red it flowers!

Then 'gan he making Oh! so cheery, From flowers a couch most rich outspread.

At which outbreaking In laughter merry You'll find, whoe'er the path does tread.

By the rose he can see Tandaradi!

Where my head lay cozily.

How he caressed me Knew it one ever G.o.d defend! ashamed I'd be.

Whereto he pressed me No, no, never Shall any know it but him and me And a birdlet on the tree Tandaradi!

Sure we can trust it, cannot we?

--Tr. by Kroeger.

FROM THE CRUSADERS' HYMN.

Sweet love of Holy Spirit Direct sick mind and steer it, G.o.d, who the first didst rear it, Protect thou Christendom.

It lies of pleasure barren No rose blooms more in Sharon; Comfort of all th' ill-starren, Oh! help dispel the gloom!

Keep, Savior, from all ill us!

We long for the bounding billows, Thy Spirit's love must thrill us, Repentant hearts' true friend.

Thy blood for us thou'st given, Unlocked the gates of heaven.

Now strive we as we've striven To gain the blessed land.

Our wealth and blood grows thinner; G.o.d yet will make us winner Gainst him, who many a sinner Holds p.a.w.ne'd in his hand.

G.o.d keep thy help us sending, With thy right hand aid lending, Protect us till the ending When at last our soul us leaves, From h.e.l.l-fires, flaming clamor Lest we fall 'neath the hammer!

Too oft we've heard with tremor, How pitiably it grieves The land so pure and holy All helplessly and fearfully!

Jerusalem, weep lowly, That thou forgotten art!

The heathen's boastful glory Put thee in slavery h.o.a.ry.

Christ, by thy name's proud story In mercy take her part!

And help those sorely shaken Who treaties them would maken That we may not be taken And conquered at the start.

-- Tr. by Kroeger.

When from the sod the flowerets spring, And smile to meet the sun's bright ray, When birds their sweetest carols sing, In all the morning pride of May, What lovelier than the prospect there?

Can earth boast any thing more fair?

To me it seems an almost heaven, So beauteous to my eyes that vision bright is given.

But when a lady chaste and fair, n.o.ble, and clad in rich attire, Walks through the throng with gracious air, As sun that bids the stars retire, Then, where are all thy boastings, May?

What hast thou beautiful and gay, Compared with that supreme delight?

We leave thy loveliest flowers, and watch that lady bright.

Wouldst thou believe me,--come and place Before thee all this pride of May; Then look but on my lady's face, And which is best and brightest say: For me, how soon (if choice were mine) This would I take, and that resign, And say, "Though sweet thy beauties, May, I'd rather forfeit all than lose my lady gay!"

--Tr. by Taylor.

The Minnesingers wrote many songs in praise of the Virgin. She was the embodiment of pure womanhood, their constant object of devotion. The following extracts are taken from a hymn to the Virgin, formerly attributed to Gottfried von Stra.s.sburg. It is one of the greatest of the Minnesongs. It consists of ninety-three stanzas, of which six are given.

Stanza 1.-- Ye who your life would glorify And float in bliss to G.o.d on high, There to dwell nigh His peace and love's salvation; Who fain would learn how to enroll All evil under your control, And rid your soul Of many a sore temptation; Give heed unto this song of love, And follow its sweet story.

Then will its pa.s.sing sweetness prove Unto your hearts a winge'd dove And upward move Your souls to bliss and glory.

Stanza 12.-- Ye fruitful heavens, from your ways Bend down to hear the tuneful lays I sing in praise Of her, the sainted maiden, Who unto us herself has shown A modest life, a crown and throne; Whose love has flown O'er many a heart grief-laden.

Thou too, O Christ, thine ear incline To this my adoration, In honor of that mother thine Who ever blest must stay and shine, For she's the shrine Of G.o.d's whole vast creation.

Stanza 19.-- Thou sheen of flowers through clover place, Thou lignum aloe's blooming face, Thou sea of grace, Where man seeks blessed landing.

Thou roof of rapture high and blest, Through which no rain has ever pa.s.sed, Thou goodly rest, Whose end is without ending.

Thou to help-bearing strength a tower Against all hostile evils.

Thou parriest many a stormy shower Which o'er us cast in darkest hour, The h.e.l.l worm's power And other ruthless devils.

Stanza 20.-- Thou art a sun, a moon, a star, 'Tis thou can'st give all good and mar, Yea, and debar Our enemies' great cunning.

That power G.o.d to thee hath given That living light, that light of heaven: Hence see we even Thy praise from all lips running.

Thou' st won the purest, n.o.blest fame, In all the earth's long story, That e'er attached to worldly name; It shineth brightly like a flame; All hearts the same Adore its lasting glory.

Stanza 82.-- To worship, Lady, thee is bliss, And fruitful hours ne'er pa.s.s amiss To heart that is So sweet a guest's host-mansion.

He who thee but invited hath Into his heart's heart love with faith, Must live and bathe In endless bliss-expansion.

To worship thee stirs up in man A love now tame, now pa.s.sion.

To worship thee doth waken, then Love e'en in those love ne'er could gain; Thus now amain Shines forth thy love's concession.

From praising Mary, the poet pa.s.ses to praising Christ.

Stanza 59.-- Thou cool, thou cold, thou warmth, thou heat, Thou rapture's circle's central seat, Who does not meet With thee stays dead in sadness; Each day to him appears a year, Seldom his thoughts wear green bloom's gear; He doth appear Forever without gladness.