Just at this time, his mother sent for him to present him to the knight's lady. The knights were deep in the enjoyments of the banquet, and in their imaginations as to the impending crusade, and took no notice of Henry's departure. He found his mother in close conversation with the old, kindhearted lady of the castle, who welcomed him pleasantly. The evening was serene, the sun began to decline, and Henry, who was longing after solitude and was enticed by the golden distance, which stole through the narrow, deep-arched windows into the gloomy apartment, easily obtained permission to stroll beyond the castle. He hastened, his whole soul in a state of excitement, into the free air. He looked from the height of the old rock down into the woody valley, through which a little rivulet brawled along, turning several mills, the noise of which was scarcely audible from the greatness of the elevation. Then he gazed toward the immeasurable stretch of woods and mountain-passes, and his restlessness was calmed, the warlike tumult died away, and there remained behind only a clear, imaginative longing; He felt the absence of a lute, little as he knew its nature and effects. The serene spectacle of the glorious evening soothed him to soft fancies; the blossom of his heart revealed itself momently like lightning-flashes. He rambled through the wild shrubbery, and clambered over fragments of rock; when suddenly there arose from a neighboring valley a tender and impressive song, in a female voice accompanied by wonderful music. He was sure that it was a lute, and standing full of admiration he heard the following song in broken German.
If the weary heart is living
Yet, beneath a foreign sky;
If a pallid Hope is giving
Fitful glimpses to the eye;
Can I still of home be dreaming?
Sorrow's tears adown are streaming,
Till my heart is like to die.
Could I myrtle-garlands braid thee,
And the cedar's sombre hair!