Just as Otto von Trautwangen came along at a hard trot across the meadow below the castle, Bertha and the old minstrel Walter were seated on the rampart, and looked mournfully down on his progress; for Bertha had confided all her sufferings and sorrow to the old man, who happened at this time to have made one of his accustomed visits to the castle. She was about to break out afresh into an agony of tears, when Master Walter said,--“Nay, nay, let us sing a farewell address to the young knight on his departure.” He then took his harp, and sung one stanza, to which Bertha responded; but as the minstrel began again, she made him a signal to be silent, for she could bear it no longer. Her voice faltered, and she wrapt herself closely in her veil. Meanwhile the soft notes of their music were borne down by the morning breezes to Sir Otto, who spurred his horse, and drew down his visor as if resolved to hear no more. It was the first time that he had ever worn a close helmet; and as he looked through its bars on the vernal landscape, his heart heaved within him, and was filled with new and strange sensations. The whole world appeared new and mysterious; but the bright roseate hues of the eastern sky prevailed in his mind, and over the scenery. He shouted aloud, encouraged his noble horse, and, like a new-fledged bird or butterfly of spring, pursued his way over fields, woods, and meadows, forgetting all sorrow in his bright prospects of the future. CHAPTER VII. How Sir Otto vanquished Sir Heerdegen von Lichtenried. In that smiling land, where the silver-blue Mayne rolls its waters past the old free town of Frankfort, where, on both sides, are situated the most attractive villages and garden-houses, vineyards and pleasure-grounds, life is indeed joyous and delightful! Whoever has the good fortune to be there in the vernal season of flowers and blossoms, especially if he be a young warrior, with his heart full and buoyant with grand and lofty anticipations, may quaff for once a cup of pleasure such as the whole course of his after-life may not offer to his lips. The truth of what has just now been said is known to the writer of this history from his own experience; and he heartily wishes that his readers may have proved it also, both for their own sakes, and in order that they may better sympathize with the feelings, which, as it were, spread a golden web of enchantment over all the objects by which the youthful Otto was now surrounded. He knew not what to look upon as most interesting, the thoughts of his journey and warlike exploits,--the blooming fairy-land, with its orchard-trees, winding-walks and avenues, varied hills and dales, in which he was placed; or, finally, the mirthful and courteous people by whom this land was inhabited.