WINCESLAUS, KING OF BOHEMIA. 183 Nor frost nor snow o'er me have E'er since my heart hath known power Those laughter-loving lips, whose charms, Just like a rose new blown, More sweet, each passing hour, The last outvie; So lovely shines that lady fair Of deathless memory, Whose form, so bright, is my heart's delight, WINCESLAUS, KING OF BOHEMIA. THIS king is most probably the first of that name, and belongs, therefore, to the middle of the 13th century. Two songs, and a watchsong, by this monarch, are preserved in the Manesse MS. The following has perhaps only its aristocratic claims to a place. The measure of the original is very unmanageable, and has been altogether abandoned here. Sit das der winter hat die bluomen ingetan, Now that stern winter each blossom is blighting, And birds in the woodlands no longer we hear, I will repair to a scene more inviting, Nor will he repent who shall follow me there. Instead of the flowers the plain so adorning, Beautiful fair ones shall bloom like the morning; O what a vivid and glorious dawning ; Sweet smiles, sprightly converse, the drooping heart cheer. Dares any one now, as in joy he reposes, His happy hours crown'd by the smiles of the fair, Still love and lament for the summer's past roses? Ill then deserves he a blessing so rare; Mine be the joys which his heart cannot measure; Might I behold but my heart's dearest treasure, Forgotten were all in that exquisite pleasure, E'en the tale I once told thee,-forgive it, my fair! Beautiful one, to my heart ever nearest, Long may it cheer me, to happiness guide me, To touch those bright lips as they smile upon me. LÜTOLT VON SEVEN. "HER Luitolt," von Seven, a family known in the Tyrol, and in the Zurich-gau also, belongs to the middle of the 13th century. In dem walde und uf der gruenen heide Meiet es so rehte wol, Das ich mit suezer ougenweide Wol von schulden troesten sol; So han ich fúr senenden muot Trost deheinen, Wan den einen Das min vrouwe ist guot. In the woods and meadows green, That the lovely prospect there Joy enough might bring to me: Solace none, Save this alone, That my lady should be kind. Happy, whom the song of birds He He may take his choice of joy ; Birds sweet singing, All in loveliest harmony! Me my lady's favour glads More than flow'rets red or fair; Song I want not, for her grace Frees me from each pining care. Pain relieve, And my heart of grief beguile. WATCHSONGS. THE Minnesingers were fond of a species of ballad called "wachterlieder" or watchsongs, many of which possess great sprightliness and beauty of description, and show clearly that these minstrels might |
