Now by the rising sun I view’d In tears my lady’s face; She gave me many a token good, And many a soft embrace, Our parting bitterly we mourn’d; The hearts which erst with rapture burn’d, Were cold with woe and care. A ring, with glittering ruby red, Gave me that lady sheen, And with me from the castle sped Along the meadow green; And whilst I saw my leman bright, She waved on high her ’kerchief white; “Courage! To arms!” she cried. In the raging fight each pennon white Reminds me of her love; In the field of blood, with mournful mood I see her ’kerchief move; Through foes I hew where’er I view Her ruby ring, and blithely sing, “Lady, I fight for thee.” But the glory of the minne-singers was but short; the emperors of the house of Swabia, had fostered the art, by allowing an unheard-of liberty of speech and thought; with the downfall of that house (1256 A. D.) the church regained a continually-increasing ascendancy, and this liberty was again fettered. Song and poetry, especially of an amatory or frivolous (?) character were condemned, and the place of the pleasant school of minne-singer poetry was usurped by paraphrases of the Scriptures, hymns or legends, written either in very weak German or bad Latin; the school of German poetry took a very long retrograde step. Before leaving the minne-singers, a word must be said of their fables and tales; in these we find many modern ideas in a quaint and ancient dress, proverbs abound, and many tales of Roman History. “Don’t set the wolf to guard the Sheep,” “Never borrow trouble,” “The king must die, And so must I,” and many other sage thoughts. The tales are sometimes very prettily told. We have thought it worth while to translate one, which we believe, has not yet been seen in an English dress. As far as possible we have adhered to the abruptness and quaintness of the original.