"What books have we here for afternoon reading?" said Flemming, taking a volume from the parlour table, when they had returned from the dining-room. "O, it is Uhland's Poems. Have you read any thing of his? He and Tieck are the best living poets of Germany. They dispute the palm of superiority. Let me give you a lesson in German, this afternoon, Miss Ashburton; so that no one may accuse you of 'omitting the sweet benefit of time, to clothe your age with angel-like perfection.' I have opened at random upon the ballad of the Black Knight. You repeat the German after me, and I will translate to you. Pfingsten war, das Fest der Freude!"
"I should never persuade my unwilling lips to pronounce such sounds. So I beg you not to perplex me with your German, but read me the ballad in English."
"Well, then, listen. I will improvise a translation for your own particular benefit.
"'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,
When woods and fields put off all sadness.
Thus began the King and spake;
'So from the halls
Of ancient Hofburg's walls,
A luxuriant Spring shall break.'
"Drums and trumpets echo loudly,