Quiet, close, and warm, Sheltered from all molestation, WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE.17 VOGELWEID the Minnesinger, When he left this world of ours Under Würtzburg's minster towers. And he gave the monks his treasures, Saying, "From these wandering minstrels Let me now repay the lessons They have taught so well and long." Thus the bard of love departed; And, fulfilling his desire, On his tomb the birds were feasted Day by day, o'er tower and turret, On the tree whose heavy branches On the pavement, on the tombstone, On the cross-bars of each window, There they sang their merry carols, Till at length the portly abbot Murmured, "Why this waste of food? Be it changed to loaves henceforward For our fasting brotherhood." Then in vain o'er tower and turret, From the walls and woodland nests, When the minster bells rang noontide, Gathered the unwelcome guests Then in vain, with cries discordant, Time has long effaced the inscriptions And tradition only tells us Where repose the poet's bones. But around the vast cathedral, DRINKING SONG. INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE PITCHER. COME, old friend! sit down and listen! Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, Led by his inebriate Satyrs; On his breast his head is sunken, Vacantly he leers and chatters. Fauns with youthful Bacchus fellow; As the forehead of Apollo, And possessing youth eternal. Round about him, fair Bacchantes, Bearing cymbals, flutes, and thyrses, Wild from Naxian groves, or Zante's Vineyards, sing delirious verses. Thus he won, through all the nations, Bore, as trophies and oblations, Vines for banners, ploughs for armour. R Judged by no o'er-zealous rigour, These are ancient ethnic revels, Now to rivulets from the mountains Claudius, though he sang of flagons Even Redi, though he chaunted Then with water fill the pitcher Ne'er Falernian threw a richer Light upon Lucullus' tables. Come, old friend, sit down and listen! THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. L'éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: "Toujours! jamais! Jamais! toujours!"—Jacques Bridaine. SOMEWHAT back from the village street Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; Never-forever!" Halfway up the stairs it stands, And points and beckons with its hands Like a monk, who, under his cloak, With sorrowful voice to all who pass,- Never forever!" By day its voice is low and light; And seems to say, at each chamber-door,—— "Forever-never! Never-forever!" |