The magicians appear’d, but none ’mongst them all Could rightly interpret the words on the wall. But Belshazzar the king the selfsame night Was slain by his servants,--a ghastly sight. 11. THE MINNESINGERS. In the minstrels’ strife engaging Pass the Minnesingers by; Strange the war that they are waging, Strange the tourney where they vie. Fancy, that for battle nerves him, Is the Minnesinger’s steed; Art as trusty buckler serves him, And his word’s a sword indeed. Beauteous dames, with glances pleasant, From the balcony look down; But the right one is not present With the proper laurel crown. Other combatants, when springing To the lists, at least are sound; Minnesingers must be bringing To the fray a deadly wound. He from whom the most there draineth Song’s blood from the inmost breast,-- He is victor, and obtaineth From fair lips the praise most blest, 12. LOOKING FROM THE WINDOW. Fair Hedwig lay at the window, to see If pale Henry would chance to detect her; She said half aloud: “Why goodness me! The man is as pale as a spectre!” With yearning pale Henry look’d above At her window, in hopes to detect her; Fair Hedwig now felt the torments of love, And she became pale as a spectre. Love-sick, now stood fair Hedwig all day At her window, lest he should reject her; But soon in pale Henry’s arms she lay All night, at the time for a spectre. 13. THE WOUNDED KNIGHT. I know a story of anguish, A tale of the times of old; A knight with love doth languish, His mistress is faithless and cold. As faithless must he esteem now Her whom in his heart he adored; His loving pangs must he deem now Disgraceful and abhorr’d. In vain in the lists would he wander, And challenge to battle each knight; “Let him who my mistress dares slander Make ready at once for the fight!” But all are silent, save only His grief, that so fiercely doth burn; His lance he against his own lonely Accusing bosom must turn. 14. THE SEA-VOYAGE. I leaning stood against the mast, And told each wave of ocean; Farewell, my beauteous fatherland! My bark, how swift thy motion! I pass’d my lovely mistress’ house, The windows gleam’d all over; But though I gazed and gazed and gazed, No sign could I discover. Ye tears, obscure not thus mine eyes On this too-painful morrow; My love-sick heart, O do not break With overweight of sorrow! 15. THE SONG OF REPENTANCE. Sir Ulrich rides in the forest so green, The leaves with joy seem laden; He sees, the trees’ thick branches between, The form of a beauteous maiden.