Since then I have not seen the flowers, Nor heard the birds' sweet song;My joys have all too briefly passed, My griefs been all too long.--Tr.by Taylor.
WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE.Early ninteenth 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 grass.
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 brimming 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 God 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, God, 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;
God yet will make us winner Gainst him, who many a sinner Holds pawne'd in his hand.
God keep thy help us sending, With thy right hand aid lending, Protect us till the ending When at last our soul us leaves, From hell-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 hoary.
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, Noble, 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)
