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And all the minstrelsy of dreamy glade

Was like a stream Elysian to them borne,

With pure delight, estranged to earthly wrong.

And sometimes on the noble river’s breast

They sailed, below the stately castle walls,

Or hoary ruins on o’erhanging cliffs,

Of ancient lore the sacred hieroglyphs,

Upon whose mystery the moonlight falls,

With fairy-charm which age of knighthood blessed.

’Mongst such are those of famous Dürrenstein

Which once imprisoned Richard Lionhearted,—

Returning from a holy pilgrimage,—

The English lion in an unknown cage,—

For ev’n his minstrel, from whom he had parted,

Knew not what walls his good lord did confine.

But he, the faithful Blondel, sought him long,

And traveled in disguise through Germany,

Until he learned of some great personage,

On whom king Leopold had wreaked his rage,

And now he sought this place most eagerly,

Without an aid or weapon, but a song.

A song which he, together with the king,

Had made one night among Judean hills,

A ballad full of stirring battle-scenes,