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Translated by J. H. Merivale
AT Aachen, in imperial state, | |
| In the hall with age embrownéd, | |
| Mid solemn pomp King Rudolph sate | |
| At the feast,—a Cæsar crownéd. | |
| The cates the Palgrave of the Rhine,— | 5 |
| Bohemia bore the sparkling wine,— | |
| And all the Electors seven, | |
| As round the sun the planet crew, | |
| Encircled with their service due | |
| The lord of that earthly heaven. | 10 |
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| And glad spectators thronged around, | |
| On the high balconies seated; | |
| And the shrill-voiced trumpet’s brazen sound | |
| The shouting crowds repeated,— | |
| Since ended the rule of blood and crime, | 15 |
| That long had marked that kingless time; | |
| The justice-seat no longer, | |
| Bereft of the judge, was usurped by the spear, | |
| Nor the weak and peaceful had cause for fear | |
| To be made the prey of the stronger. | 20 |
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| Now the Cæsar has grasped the goblet of gold, | |
| And he speaks with joyous glances,— | |
| “The feast is right royal and bright to behold, | |
| And my heart within me dances. | |
| But the bard—the bringer of joy—I miss, | 25 |
| Who was wont to arouse my bosom to bliss, | |
| Or to godlike thoughts awaken: | |
| His voice so sweet was my youth’s delight; | |
| And what I so prized as a simple knight, | |
| Be ne’er from the monarch taken!” | 30 |
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| Then forth in that circle of princes bright | |
| Stepped the bard in his robe loose flowing,— | |
| His beard and his locks all silver white | |
| With snows of time’s bestowing. | |
| “Sweet music sleeps in the golden strings; | 35 |
| Of love’s reward the minstrel sings; | |
| The highest, the best, he praises,— | |
| What the heart can wish, or the sense may cheer. | |
| Then say, what is fittest the Cæsar to hear | |
| On this day that his rapture raises.” | 40 |
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| “I may not command the minstrel,” spoke | |
| With smiles the imperial power. | |
| “He bears a mightier sovereign’s yoke, | |
| He obeys the ruling hour. | |
| As the tempest hurtles in the breeze,— | 45 |
| Man knows not its birth, nor its motion sees,— | |
| As the stream from its fountain hidden; | |
| So the minstrel’s song from its inward source | |
| Awakens the feelings with mystic force | |
| That sleep in the heart unbidden.” | 50 |
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| The minstrel sudden sweeps the string, | |
| And it answers, clear and hollow,— | |
| “A noble hunter is on the wing | |
| The chamois deer to follow; | |
| A page goes behind with his weapons of chase; | 55 |
| And soon he has readied a verdant place | |
| On the stately steed that bore him, | |
| And is made of a distant bell aware; | |
| A priest with the sacred host was there, | |
| And the sacristan walked before him. | 60 |
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| “The count, to the ground he bows him low, | |
| Bare-headed in adoration, | |
| To worship with meek devotion’s glow | |
| The Author of man’s salvation. | |
| But a torrent through the meadow roars, | 65 |
| By a cataract swollen above its shores, | |
| The traveller’s path bestriding; | |
| And the priest lays down that blesséd food, | |
| While he looses his sandal to cross the flood, | |
| With care for his charge providing. | 70 |
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| “‘What is it thou doest?’ the count began, | |
| As with wondering eye he views him. | |
| ‘I go, sir, to shrive a dying man, | |
| Ere heaven from earth unloose him. | |
| But the bridge that was wont the waters to stay, | 75 |
| The force of the torrent has swept away, | |
| And deep in the whirlpool tossed it; | |
| So, rather than keep from the thirsty soul | |
| This saving grace, though the big wave roll, | |
| I shall barefoot soon have crossed it.’ | 80 |
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| “The count hath him set on his knightly steed, | |
| In his hands the rich bridle placing, | |
| That the sick may not fail, at his utmost need, | |
| Of that holy help’s embracing. | |
| Himself mounts the page’s hackney the while, | 85 |
| And follows the chase with a cheerful smile; | |
| The priest, on his way proceeding, | |
| At morning’s dawn brings back again | |
| That princely steed, by the golden rein | |
| With grateful reverence leading. | 90 |
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| “‘Now, God so please!’ cried devoutly the count, | |
| ‘Shall no man ever persuade me, | |
| For the chase or the fight that steed to mount, | |
| Which has carried the Lord that made me. | |
| And, if thou hast earned it not for thine own, | 95 |
| Then let it remain for God’s service alone,— | |
| I thus to Him decreeing | |
| From whom all honor and earthly good | |
| I hold as lent; and body and blood, | |
| And life and breath and being.’ | 100 |
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| “‘O, so may God who heareth prayer, | |
| And grants what is asked for duly, | |
| To honor bring thee both here and there, | |
| In that thou hast served him truly. | |
| Thou ownest now a count’s command,— | 105 |
| For knighthood famed through the Schweizerland,— | |
| With six fair daughters blooming. | |
| May they six crownéd matrons shine,’ | |
| Enrapt he sang, ‘thy princely line | |
| To latest age illuming.’” | 110 |
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| And with thoughtful brow sat the Cæsar there, | |
| Revolving days long ended; | |
| But when he beheld that bright eye’s glare, | |
| The riddle he comprehended. | |
| For the priest’s true features he there has traced, | 115 |
| And he raises his purple mantle in haste, | |
| To hide the tears fast rising; | |
| While all on the Cæsar fix their eyes, | |
| And the minstrel’s hero recognize, | |
| And revere their chief, God-prizing. | 120 |
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