The Minstrel

"WHAT voice, what harp, are those we hear
Beyond the gate in chorus?
Go, page! — the lay delights our ear,

We'll have it sung before us!"

So speaks the king: the stripling flies —
He soon returns; his master cries —
"Bring in the hoary minstrel!"

"Hail, princes mine! Hail, noble knights!

All hail, enchanting dames!
What starry heaven! What blinding lights!

Whose tongue may tell their names?
In this bright hall, amid this blaze,
Close, close, mine eyes! Ye may not gaze

On such stupendous glories!"

The Minnesinger closed his eyes;

He struck his mighty lyre:
Then beauteous bosoms heaved with sighs,

And warriors felt on fire;
The king, enraptured by the strain,
Commanded that a golden chain

Be given the bard in guerdon.

"Not so! Eeserve thy chain, thy gold,
For those brave knights whose glances,

Fierce flashing through the battle bold,
Might shiver sharpest lances!

Bestow it on thy Treasurer there —

The golden burden let him bear
With other glittering burdens.

"I sing as in the greenwood bush

The cageless wild-bird carols —
The tones that from the full heart gush

Themselves are gold and laurels!

Yet, might I ask, then thus I ask,
Let one bright cup of wine in flask
Of glowing gold be brought me!"

They set it down: he quaffs it all —
"O! draught of richest flavour!

O! thrice divinely happy hall,
Where that is scarce a favour!

If Heaven shall bless ye, think on me,

And thank your GOD as I thank ye
For this delicious wine-cup!"