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Through these streets so broad and stately, these
obscure and dismal lanes, Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude
From remote and sunless suburbs, came they to
the friendly guild, Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in
spouts the swallows build.
As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the
mystic rhyme, And the smith his iron measures hammered to
the anvil's chime;
Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes
the flowers of poesy bloom In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of 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 mas
ter's antique chair.
Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my
dreamy eye Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a
Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee
the world's regard; But thy painter, Albrecht Dürer, and Hans
Sachs, thy cobbler-bard.
Thus, O Nuremberg, 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 labor, — the long pedigree 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 domestique, de maladie, et de péril de mort, les nobles se repentirent de posséder des serfs, comme d'une chose peu agré. able à Dieu, qui avait créé tous les hommes à son image.
THIERRY: CONQUÊTE 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.