48
Poems.
Bring forth each soul-inspiring lay of joyousness and pain,If we can touch this monarch's heart 'twill be a nation's gain."
Soon stood the Minnesingers within the lofty hall;Upon their throne sat king and queen, around the courtiers all,The king in splendor blazing, like blood red northern light,The queen with mein so mild as shines the moon at night.
The sire struck the harp's deep chords, he struck them full and clear;And richer yet and still more rich, they fell upon the ear;Then soared above so heavenly pure the youthful voice of fire,While low and deep the other voice, joined like a spirit choir.
They sang of love and spring, of chivalry, and youth,Of the blissful golden age, of holiness and truth,—Of freedom, and the sweetest themes the human heart can moveAnd every noble, lofty aim the human breast can love.
The courtiers circling round forget the mocking word,The monarch's haughtiest knights, bend down the knee to God;Moved both by sadness and by joy, the queen, with glances sweet,Plucks from her breast the rose, and flings it at the singers' feet!
