not seek to make converts to my faith, nor do I exclude any man from my esteem or friendship because he and I differ in that respect. The same charity, therefore, it is not unreasonable to expect will be extended to myself, because in all things that relate to the State and to the duties of civil life, I am bound by the same obligations as my fellowcitizens; nor does any man subscribe more sincerely than myself to the maxim, "Whatever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye so even unto them, for such is the Law and the Prophets." 143 THE SULTAN'S LESSON A Sultan placed before his throne one day Upon the golden vase Empire was writ; Glory upon the amber vase shone bright; No word was written on the vase of earth; W. R. ALGER. 144 SUSSKIND OF TRIMBERG Now into the high hall the proud poets troop town, And with light, gallant mien the gay courtiers stoop In their bows to the dames, all of fairest renown. And the flicker of gayety brightens the room; For it gleams like the jewels, or silken brocade; While the clanking of swords and of stirrups con sume Half the love-doting sallies of matron and maid. This is an occasion when rhymers appear Till the stillness of evening broods over the throng. For each bard in his place is awaiting his cue To arouse the applause of the court and its train, And he hums in his heart just a stanza or two Of the rhymes he has wrought at the beck of the Thane. First they called on the bard whose strong minnesongs led Many sore-footed pilgrims in quest of the grail, And he rises with honor, a crown on his head, And sings well of castle's defence and assail. Then to love-winning eyes of his lady he turns, And reverts to a knight who has led every quest In the siege of her heart, for whose conquest he yearns, As a monk yearns in prayer for the joys of the blest. He ceased, and the plaudits arose to the roof, And around the vast hall rolled his praise and his name; Lifted up in his pride, from his fellows aloof, He gives them a challenge to mount to his fame. Almost heavy of heart, then, the next poet sings The song he has woven to dazzle the court, Tho' deftly he wakens the musical strings Till his harp and his voice in one rapture disport. Each poet wins favor, delightfully heard; All the knights and the ladies are brave in their praise Of the favorite tune, or the apt chosen word, In the rollicking troubadours' spirited lays. But now one unheralded bard is espied, Lately shunned with a growl by the insolent crew, And stung by his daring in crossing their pride, They hotly demanded, "What, ho! hear the Jew!" Full proudly he rose when he thus was proclaimed, Brave Susskind of Trimberg, the Troubadour Jew; Standing calmly before them, unknown, unashamed, He would lift their disdain as the sun lifts the dew. But becalmed and at gaze, like a couchant wild beast, Ere it leaps unaware on its innocent prey, "My song is of love that should gladden all times, And that love is the book of the law of my sires. We have wandered with this through the seasons and climes; Long ago by the Rhine we enkindled our fires. We were here when the eagles of Rome were elate; We encamped amid desolate ruins and mounds; So of Trimberg I sing, and the woods of my State, Of Bavaria beloved and what in it abounds. "Before Germany was, then my fathers were here, And they sang of a peace that is sweeter than wine, With a harp that was David's, and not with the spear, They greeted the vales of the Saale and the Rhine. Oh, this land is my country, these forests my home! Here my altars of praise and of household were set. Overflowing with love for my townsmen I come, 66 Give me heed now, ye bards, for like Walter I sing, And a troubadour's mate is the good man and just. All the children of men are controlled by one King, And He fathers the living and those in the dust. Your songs are of bloodshed, and bloodshed is death; Sing ye rather the rich who are friends to the poor; My songs are of peace, and have balm in their breath That should soothe the afflictions that many en dure. "And ye who exult in the pride of your sires, Ye prize not, ye heed not, the greeting I bring. Ye can only think scorn of my kindly desires, And would silence my lays when my heart bids me sing. |