, 1872-12-25

that the kn4ghtly mlnB+re1 pEUhe lances III n1s
wife's honor, or cut off lips or fingers for her
sake. For years and years he bore with all the
caprices OF the Princess, and doubtless would
have remained, through life, q model Of
constancy, had she not finally taken another
lover. He then sang for time most satlrical
songs about the faithessness Of woman; but he
finally concluded to console himself with another
sovereign lady. No knight, he reelected, ought
to be without lady-loye, in whose honor lie
could perform Lis deeds of valor:. So he chose
from the ladies Of Germany 81 the ono OF all
most woman1y. beautiful, good. chaste, gentle,
and lovely" Moro gracious than the Princess.
this new idol received his devotion kindly from
the first and he felt that he must honor her
with deeds more daring than any which he had
performed before. In pursuit Of honor he fell
into difficulties, md was made d prisoner. But
his faithful wife rescued him, and ne WAS again
at liberty to devote himself to his Dulcinea. He
kept up this sort Of life till he died, at the age
of about rs years. He never found time to
learn to read and write; but he was q genuine
poet and artist, and 30 far aa grace
and exquisite finish is concerned the poems OF
Ulrich Won Lichtenstein are the best OF al the
Minnelieder, though German critics seem to
have underrated his literary ability from sheer
scorn at the folly of his life. He gave ua his
own creed, when he sang:
st Summer glow
Lieth low
Upon heath, field, wood, and grass,
Here and there
In the glare,
White, red, gold peeps from the place.
Full Of Joy
Laughs the sky,
Laughs what on the earth doth roTo.
HsRRS a. wSa man ean
Live SO that all things him move
To love, to love-"
The career of Walther Won der Vogelweide wes
much more dignifed. He appears to have been
more lovely as man than even as 8 poet and
artist; though Gottfried Von strassburg sin
Singer nightingales. He wooed his love, with d
pure heart, feryently. He sang to her:
Had not Of Joy my part
Built upon thee; dcnr hearts love,
Some way out Of Il could be shown.
But, since oil my veal thou art,
And my jog and worth ser throye
And still rests in thee alone:
Should now my heart tesr from thee, dearest,
I'd but hurt myself tho nearest.
This. surely, were not wisely done.
Yet 6hould'st thou, blessed woman, keep In mind
How long I've grioved for thee aloue.''
These songs Of the old minne-singer lose
greatly by translation; yet even in the rather
crude English version some Of them are extreme
1y quaint and delicate. For instance, here is one
by Christian Won Ham1e:
I wish the f1ow'ry meadow could but utter
Like yon parrot in the glass,
And tel me how it felt ard gan to huttec
When to-day my love did pass,
And plucked flowers, glorious 1raGs,
From its field, whilst onward airily fitting
Her sWeet feet trod its grass.
Sir Meadow, since you felt such wondroua pleasure
Where that time my lady went,
With her white hands gath'ring your 1oy treasure,
And gathering, lowly Ger them bent,
O, Sir Meadow, do consent
Aid let nae now place my feet where, quilting,
Ny love left the grass down-heat.
Sir Meadow, if you but at our next meeting
Persuade her to relieve my
9our fields for there I'll ask her 60;
Then you'll ne'er be hurt by snow;
And if she send me kindly greeting.
Green like your clover my heart viii grow'
Or read this other Glove Song" by Duering:
.-Alas! time still does pass from us:
The amorous
Songs Of the birds have vanished.
The cold and frost make all things dead.
Whittier haa fed
The bloom Of flowers and roses red?
where sfe he dswy meadows and the taee-top's
Alas! The frost has all destroyed.
There il void
/ OF many joys, thot crst we're ours.
But me hurts neither frost nor sno-,
For we'll I know
A laughing ulouth-ah me, so sweet!
Iii opens like uew-blown rose,
And redder glowB
Than any roae the sun loth greet.
1t is my loved adys aud could forget Eez Prey
SLe bFingEtb happiness mort rate
iier body fair
1s my perennial Easser-day-
-Whoer gaw s,ich maid afo-co
To the Eea-shors
You'll find none like her, noua fair,
IT'S she for whom my heart doth pcEt
Could she relcub
and love ne, ah, how rich were!
-Her gsdsorae eyes would brighten my LIE with loves
own glare;
For ler great beauty so beg,i1es;
Gu whom she smiles
Forever ia relieved Of care.
In this book you will find mora abof,t the Mi
ne-singer than, think, Inns ever before been Civ
en- in 80 small compass. The spirit of tho life
and the work of those wonderful old minstres OF
the morning il here distilled for you az from T.
thousand roses is expressed a single drop OF
priceless odor.