Part 11 (1/2)

On the mountains snow is melting, In the valleys blossom fruit trees, May begins his reign at last.

In the path before the hall door Hiddigeigei took his comfort, Caring only that the sun's rays On his fur should fall and warm him.

Through the garden walked the Baron With his daughter, and with pleasure He beheld the trees in blossom.

”If my life should be preserved still For a hundred years or longer, I should always be delighted With this wonder-breathing May-time.

True, indeed, I set no value On the May-dew, though the women Like to wet with it their faces.

I have never seen a soul yet Who by it improved her beauty; Have no faith in arts of witchcraft In the night of St. Walpurgis, Nor in broomstick-riding squadrons.

Notwithstanding there belongs a Magic to the month of May.

My old weary bones have suffered Many painful gouty twinges From the chilly winds of April.

Now these pains are quite forgotten, And I feel as if the old strength Of my youth were through me streaming, And as if I were once more a Beardless trim and gay young ensign, In those days when at Noerdlingen I fought fiercely, in close combat With those brave blue Swedish horseman.

So I think, it would be pleasant To agree, this is a feast-day, Though no Saint has ever claimed it.

Let us saunter through the forest.

I will breathe the balmy pine air, And the young folks may try whether Fortune favours them at fis.h.i.+ng.

Yes, to-day I yearn for pleasure.

Anton, get the horses ready.”

So 'twas done as he had ordered.

In the court, filled with impatience, Pawed and neighed the fiery horses.

Full of joyful expectation For the sport were the young people.

Bent on fis.h.i.+ng they had carried The great net up from the river.

Worthy Anton had invited Many friends of the old Baron, Also had communicated With the ladies of the convent; And, besides, some uninvited Guests had also here a.s.sembled.

When the landlord of the ”b.u.t.ton”

Heard the news, he to his wife said: ”To thy care I trust entirely All the business of the tavern; In thy hands I lay the keys now Of the cellar and the larder, I must join the fis.h.i.+ng-party.”

Speaking thus he stole off quickly; Ne'er he missed a hunt or fis.h.i.+ng.

Strong and hearty looked the Baron, On his charger firmly seated Like a bronze equestrian statue.

By his side on her white palfrey Rode the lovely Margaretta.

Gracefully to her slim figure Clung in folds her riding-habit; Gracefully the blue veil floated From her riding-hat of velvet.

With a steady hand she boldly Reined her palfrey, who was bearing With delight so fair a burden.

Watchfully good Anton followed His fair mistress; also Werner After them was gaily trotting, Though at a respectful distance.

For, behind, in solemn grandeur, Came the big old-fas.h.i.+oned carriage Of the Lady Princess Abbess, With three ladies of the convent, Likewise old and venerable.

They by Werner were escorted.

He made many courtly speeches To these old and n.o.ble ladies, And broke many flowering branches From the trees, and most politely Handed them into the carriage; So that, struck with his fine manners, They unto each other whispered: ”What a pity he's not n.o.ble!”

Up hill steep the road ascended, And the forest of dark pine-trees Now received the long procession.

Soon then through the dusky branches Silver like the mountain-lake shone, And already merry shouting Came from thence; for the young people Of the town had gained the lake-sh.o.r.e By a shorter steeper path.

At the summit, where the main-road Took a different direction, Carriages and riders halted, And the vehicles and horses To the servants' care were left.

Full of vigour, through the forest, Down the hill-slope walked the Baron, And the ladies followed bravely.

Mosses like the softest velvet Thickly covered all the ground there, And descending was not dangerous.

On a ridge, which wide and sunny, Far into the lake protruded, Numerous blocks of rock lay scattered.

There the Baron rested, and the Ladies followed his example.

Deep green lake, dense shade of fir-trees, Many thousand times I greet you.

I who now this song am singing Of the past, rejoice in you still.

Oh, how oft ye have refreshed me, When escaping from the daily Narrowness of petty town life, Out to you I used to wander.

Often on the rock I've rested, Which the roots of the old pine-trees Cling to, while beneath the lake lies With its gently rippled surface.