"Thus the bard of lore departed,
And, fulfilling his desire,
On his tomb the birds were feasted,
By the children of the choir.
"Day by day, o'er tower and turret,
In foul weather and in fair—
Day by day, in vaster numbers,
Flocked the poets of the air.
"On the tree whose heavy branches
Overshadowed all the place—
On the pavement; on the tomb-stone,
On the poet's sculptured face:
"There they sang their merry carols,
Sang their lauds on every side;
And the name their voices uttered,
Was the name of Vogelweid.
"'Till at length the portly abbot
Murmured, 'Why this waste of food,
Be it changed to loaves henceforward.
For our fasting brotherhood.'
"Then in vain o'er tower and turret,
From the walls and woodland nests.
When the minster bell rang noontide,
Gathered the unwelcome guests.
"Then in vain, with cries discordant,
Clamorous round the gothic spire.
Screamed the feathered Minnesingers
For the children of the choir.
"Time has long effaced the inscription
On the cloister's funeral stones;
And tradition only tells us
Where repose the poet's bones.
"But around the vast cathedral,
By sweet echoes multiplied,
Still the birds repeat the legend,
And the name of Vogelweid."