The Minstrel

When I'd sing to the folk's content,
The first would hear full fain
How Dieterich from Berne was sent;
The next, of Rother and his reign;
The third would like the Russian Fight; the fourth would hear of Eckhart's woe;
The fifth, of Kriemhild's false intent;
The sixth would hear again
Whither the folk of Wilzen went;
The seventh demands another strain,—
Heime's and Witchen's strife, Sir Egge's death or Siegfried's long ago;
The eighth, again, nought but the Courtly Minnesong would hear;
All this is tedious to the ninth, it would appear;
The tenth, he does not care!
Now this, now that; now thus, now so; now to, now fro; now here, now there!
Many would hear the tale of Niblung's treasure-hoard of old;
My words they hold
Not worth a doit, I'm told.
Their hearts are buried in the gold.
As lead thro' marble tries to bore, my song in many an ear is trolled.
Thus, much I sing and say to you, though ne'er the king hath charged me so.