Yet now to who have listened a comfort I will show:
Even a gentle penance forgiveness shall bestow.

Remember this, O knightly lords, 'tis yours to do and seal;
You bear the glittering helmets and breastplates of strong steel,
Moreo'er the shields so steady and the consecrated swords:
O God, that I were worthy to join the victor lords!
Then should I like the others achieve a prize untold,—
Not lands that have been promised, nor king's or nobles' gold,
But oh, a wondrous crown, and forevermore to wear

A crown which poorest soldier can win with axe or spear.
Yea, if the noble crusade I might follow o'er the sea,

I evermore should sing, All's well! and nevermore, Ah me!
Nevermore, Ah me!

Translation of A. E. Kroeger.

SONG OF WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH

I the lofty spirit melt

WOULD Of that proud dame who dwells so high,

Kind Heaven must aid me, or unfelt
By her will be its agony.

Joy in my soul no place can find:
As well might I a suitor be

To thunderbolts, as hope her mind
Will turn in softer mood to me.

Those cheeks are beautiful, are bright

As the red rose with dewdrops graced;
And faultless is the lovely light

Of those dear eyes, that, on me placed,
Pierce to my very heart, and fill

My soul with love's consuming fires,
While passion burns and reigns at will,-
So deep the love that fair inspires!

But joy upon her beauteous form

Attends, her hues so bright to shed
O'er those red lips, before whose warm
And beaming smile all care is fled.

She is to me all light and joy;

I faint, I die, before her frown:
Even Venus, lived she yet on earth,
A fairer goddess here must own.

While many mourn the vanished light

Of summer, and the sweet sun's face,
I mourn that these, however bright,

No anguish from the soul can chase
By love inflicted: all around

Nor song of birds, nor ladies' bloom,
Nor flowers upspringing from the ground,
Can chase or cheer the spirit's gloom.
Yet still thine aid, beloved, impart;

Of all thy power, thy love, make trial;
Bid joy revive in this sad heart,

Joy that expires at thy denial:
Well may I pour my prayer to thee,
Beloved lady, since 'tis thine
Alone to send such care on me;

Alone for thee I ceaseless pine.

Translation of Edgar Taylor.

BLANCHEFLEUR AT THE TOURNAMENT

From Tristan and Isolde of Gottfried von Strassburg

A

T TINTAJOEL 'twas, on the plain
Where the guests met again;
In the loveliest glen

Ever beheld by eyes of men

In the first freshness of that clime.

The gentle, gracious summer-time
Had by the sweet Creator's hand

With sweet care been poured on the land.
Of little wood birdlets bright,

That to ears should ever give delight,

Of grass, flowers, leaves, and blossoms high,
Of all that happy makes the eye
Or noble heart delight may gain,
Was full the glorious summer plain.
Whatever there you wished to find,
Spring had kindly borne in mind,—
The sunshine by the shadow,
The linden on the meadow.
The gentle, pleasant breezes,
With cunning, sweet caresses,

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O'er all the guests did lightly sweep.
The brilliant flowers did brightly peep
From dewy grass and shadow.

May's friend, the fresh green meadow,
Had from the flowers that he had reared
A summer robe so bright prepared,

Each guest its glow detected
From eye and mien reflected.

The sweet tree blossom looked at you

With a smile so sweet and true,

That all your heart and all your mind

Again to the laughing bloom inclined;
With eyes playfully burning,

Its loving laugh returning.

The gentle bird-ditty,

So lovely, so pretty,

That stirs every feeling,

O'er ears and minds stealing,

Rang from each bush of the summer vale.

The blessed nightingale,

The dearest, sweetest bird on tree,

That ever blessed ought to be,

It sang in the coolness,

With such heartfulness,

That to every noble heart

The sound did joy and glow impart.

And now the whole company,

Full of mirth and in high glee,

Had settled down upon the lawn.

There did every one

As his notion or pleasure bent,

And put up or arranged his tent.

The wealthy were quartered wealthily,
The courtly incomparably;

Some under silk did rest,

Others on the heath gay-drest;

To many the linden gave shadow,

Others housed on the meadow,

Under leaf-green twigs demurely.

Nor guests nor servants, surely,

Rarely were pleasanter

Quartered than they were quartered here.

Plenty was gathered of the best,

Which needful is for mirthful feast,

In way of clothing and eating;
Each his own wants meeting,
From home had brought provender.
King Mark, with regal splendor,
Moreover had provided for them.
Thus they enjoyed in bliss supreme
The gracious time of early spring;
Thus joy the feast to all did bring.
All that ever a curious man

To behold had longed, he then
There could have seen certainly.

One saw there what one liked to see:
Those eyed the pretty women,

These watched the peddling showmen; Those looked at the dancing,

These at the jousting and lancing.

All that ever heart longed for

Was found there in sufficient store;
And all who were present,

Of joy-ripe years, pleasant

Effort made each to exceed

At every feast in mirthful deed;

And King Mark the good,

The courteous and high of mood,

Not only on this festivity

Had spent his wealth lavishly,

But here did he show men

A wonder of all women,

His sister Blanchefleur,

A maid more beautiful than e'er

A woman upon earth was seen.
Of her beauty one must say, e'en,
That no living man could gaze
Intently on her glorious face,
But he would higher rank and find
Women and virtue in his mind.

The blessed eye-pleasure

O'er that wide inclosure

Gladdened all of young, fresh blood,
All noble hearts of courteous mood;
And on the lawn could have been seen
Many pretty women then,

Of whom each by her beauty
Should have been queen in duty.

Whoe'er had seen them surely would

Have drawn from such sight fresh bold mood.

Many hearts grew rich with joy.

Now began the great tourney

Of the servants and of the guests.
The boldest and the best

Up and down the track now paced.

Noble Mark ahead e'er raced

With his fellow Riwalin,

Whose knights following close and keen
Their play to guide ever

Did nobly endeavor

In their master's glory,

For future song and story.

Many a horse, in overdress

Of cloth or half silk, in the race

Was seen on the meadow clover;

Many a snow-white cover

There shone, or red, brown, green, or blue;

Others again, for show, wore too

Robes with noble silk worked nice,

Or scalloped in many a quaint device,
Parted, striped, or braided,

Or with trimmings shaded.
Gayly, too, appeared there

Knights of handsome form and fair,
Their armor slit, as if cut to pieces.
Even Spring with its balmy breezes,
King Mark its high favor showed;

For many people in the crowd

Were crowned with wreaths of flowers wrought, Which, as his offering, Spring had brought.

In such glorious, blessed May,

Began the blessed tourney.

Oft intermixed, the double troop

Rode up this grade, rode down that slope.

This carried they on so long that day,
Till downward swept the glorious play
To where Blanchefleur sat, the sweet,
Whom I as wonder greet,

With pretty women at her side,

To watch the show and the gallant ride;