leave,
As spring is seen to wander on;
And none she gladdens, ever grieve
When quite dejected she hath gone.
For fruits they covetously long,
Nor wist she sows them in her seed;
I make a heaven for them in song,
Yet not a prayer enshrines the deed.

With joy I feel that from above
Weird spirits to these lips are bann'd,
O, that the magic tie of love
Were also knitted to my hand!
But none regard the pilgrim lone,
Who needy came from distant isles;
What heart will pity yet his own,
And quench his grief in winning smiles?

The lofty grass is waving, where
He sinks with tearful cheeks to rest;
But thither winnowing the air,
Song-spirits seek his aching breast;
Forgetting now thy former pain,
Its burden early cast behind,--
What thou in huts hast sought in vain,
Within the palace wilt thou find.

Awaiteth thee a high renown,
The troubled course is ending now;
The myrtle-wreath becomes a crown,
Hands truest place it on thy brow.
A tuneful heart by nature shares
The glory that surrounds a throne;
Up rugged steps the poet fares,
And straight becomes the monarch's son.

So far he had proceeded in his song, and wonder held the assembly
spell-bound; when, during these stanzas, an old man with a veiled
female of noble stature, carrying in her arms a child of wondrous
beauty, who playfully eyed the assembly, and smilingly outstretched its
little hands after the diadem of the king, made their appearance and
placed themselves behind the minstrel. But the astonishment was
increased, when the king's favorite eagle, which was always about his
person, flew down from the tops of the trees with a golden headband,
which he must have stolen from the king's chamber, and hovered over the
head of the young man, so that the band fastened itself around his
tresses. The stranger was frightened for a moment; the eagle flew to
the side of the king, and left the band behind. The young man now
handed it to the child, who reached after it; and sinking upon one knee
towards the king, continued his song with agitated voice:--

From fairy dreams the minstrel flies
Abroad, impatient and elate;
Beneath the lofty trees he hies
Toward the stately palace-gate.
Like polished steel the walls oppose,
But over swiftly climb his strains;
And seized by love's delicious throes,
The monarch's child the singer gains.

They melt