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Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate
of the gentle craft, Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge
folios sang and laughed.
But his house is now an ale-house, with a
nicely-sanded floor, And a garland in the window, and his face
above the door;
Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam
Puschman's song, As the old man, gray and dove-like, with his
great beard white and long.
And at night the swart mechanic comes to
drown his cark and care, Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the
master's antique chair.
Vanished is the ancient splendour, and before
my dreamy eye Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like
a faded tapestry.
Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee
the world's regard; But thy painter, Albrecht Dürer, and Hang
Sachs, thy cobbler-bard.
Thus, 0 Nuremburg, a wanderer from a region
As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang
in thought his careless lay :
Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a
floweret of the soil, The nobility of labour, the long pedegree of
THE NORMAN BARON.
Dans les moments de la vie où la réflexion devient plus calme et plus profonde, où l'intérêt et l'avarice parlent moins haut que la raison, dans les instants de chagrin domes ique, de maladie, et de péril de mort, les nobles se repen. irent de posséder des serfs, comme d'une chose peu agréable Dieu, qui avait créé tous les hommes à son image.
THIERRY: CONQUE TE DE L'ANGLETERRE.
In his chamber, weak and dying,
And the castle-turret shook.
In this fight was Death the gainer,
Written in the Doomsday Book.
By his bed a monk was seated,
From the missal on his knee;
And, amid the tempest pealing,
Rang for the Nativity.
In the hall, the serf and vassal
Sang the minstrels and the waits.
And so loud these Saxon gleemen
Knocking at the castle-gates.
Till at length the lays they chantel Reached the chamber terror-haunted, Where the monk, with accents holy,
Whispered at the baron's ear.
Tears upon his eyelids glistened,
Turned his weary head to hear.
6 Wassail for the kingly stranger Born and cradled in a manger ! King, like David, priest, like Aaron,
Christ is born to set us free !”
And the lightning showed the sainted Figures on the casement painted, And exclaimed the shuddering baron,
“ Miserere, Domine !”