"What sounds are those without, along
The drawbridge sweetly stealing?
Within our hall I'd have that song,
That minstrel measure, pealing."
Then forth the little foot-page hied;
When he came back, the king he cried,
"Bring in the aged minstrel!"
"Good-even to you, lordlings all;
Fair ladies all, good-even.
Lo, star on star within this hall
I see a radiant heaven.
In hall so bright with noble light,
'Tis not for thee to feast thy sight,
Old man, look not around thee!"
He closed his eyne, he struck his lyre
In tones with passion laden,
Till every gallant's eye shot fire,
And down look'd every maiden.
The king, enraptured with his strain,
Held out to him a golden chain,
In guerdon of his harping.
"The golden chain give not to me,
For noble's breast its glance is,
Who meets and beats thy enemy
Amid the shock of lances.
Or give it to thy chancellere--
Let him its golden burden bear,
Among his other burdens.
"I sing as sings the bird, whose note
The leafy bough is heard on.
The song that falters from my throat
For me is ample guerdon.
Yet I'd ask one thing, an I might,
A draught of brave wine, sparkling bright
Within a golden beaker!"
The cup was brought. He drain'd its lees,
"O draught that warms me cheerly!
Blest is the house where gifts like these
Are counted trifles merely.
Lo, when you prosper, think on me,
And thank your God as heartily
As for this draught I thank you!"
* * * * *
We intend to close the present Number with a very graceful, though
simple ditty, which Goethe may possibly have altered from the
Morlachian, but which is at all events worthy of his genius.
Previously, however, in case any of the ladies should like something
sentimental, we beg leave to present them with as nice a little
_chansonette_ as ever was transcribed into an album.