PRINCE HENRY. Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown Against the clouds, far up the skies The walls of the cathedral rise, Like a mysterious grove of stone, With fitful lights and shadows blending, As from behind, the moon ascending, Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown! The wind is rising; but the boughs Rise not and fall not with the wind, That through their foliage sobs and soughs; Only the cloudy rack behind, Drifting onward, wild and ragged, Gives to each spire and buttress jagged A seeming motion undefined. Below on the square, an armed knight, Still as a statue and as white, Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver Upon the points of his armor bright As on the ripples of a river. He lifts the visor from his cheek, And beckons, and makes as he would speak.
WALTER the Minnesinger. Friend! can you tell me where alight Thuringia's horsemen for the night? For I have lingered in the rear, And wander vainly up and down.
PRINCE HENRY. I am a stranger in the town. As thou art; but the voice I hear Is not a stranger to mine ear. Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid!
WALTER. Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name Is Henry of Hoheneck!
PRINCE HENRY.
Ay, the same.
WALTER, embracing him. Come closer, closer to my side! What brings thee hither? What potent charm Has drawn thee from thy German farm Into the old Alsatian city?
PRINCE HENRY. A tale of wonder and of pity! A wretched man, almost by stealth Dragging my body to Salem, In the vain hope and search for health, And destined never to return. Already thou hast heard the rest. But what brings thee, thus armed and dight In the equipments of a knight?
WALTER. Dost thou not see upon my breast The cross of the Crusaders shine? My pathway leads to Palestine.
PRINCE HENRY. Ah, would that way were also mine! O noble poet! thou whose heart Is like a nest of singing-birds Rocked on the topmost bough of life, Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, And in the clangor of the strife Mingle the music of thy words?
WALTER. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, And like a trumpet long and loud, Thither my thoughts all clang and ring! My life is in my hand, and lo! I grasp and bend it as a bow, And shoot forth from its trembling string An arrow, that shall be, perchance, Like the arrow of the Israelite king Shot from the window towards the east. That of the Lord's deliverance!