Walther von der Vogelweide
(c. 1170 – 1230; Walther was a minstrel in the service of several German kings and nobles; perhaps first appearance of a more definite personality in German poetry who moves beyond just one genre or style and develops creative originality; expression of the cultural emancipation of the knightly class from the hegemony of the Church; large influence of the Provencal troubadours on the German courtly love tradition known as ‘Minnesang’; considered greatest German medieval poet; his name translates literally as ‘Walther from the Bird Meadow’; image of Walther from c. 1300)
Oh woe, where have they gone, these years of mine?
Has my life been dreamed, or is it true?
What I always thought was, was it really?
It seems I was asleep and knew it not.
Now I have awakened and unknown now are
things I once knew like the back of my hand.
Folk and place where I was raised have become
foreign to me, as if nothing but a lie.
Those who were my playmates are feeble, old,
the fields scorched, the woods cut down.
If the water did not flow as it always has,
my misfortune would be great indeed.
Now many greet me distantly
who used to know me well.
Truly the world is everywhere full of ill grace.
So many wondrous days I can recall
have disappeared like a stone into water thrown,
alas for ever.
Oh, how miserably youth behaves today!
Those who used to be so gay,
do nothing but worry: oh why?
Wherever I wend, no one is happy;
dancing, laughing, singing – all eaten up by worry,
never has a Christian seen such a miserable lot.
Just see what hats women wear these days,
and noble knights dress like peasants.
Hard messages have arrived from Rome:
we are allowed to mourn, but joy’s been taken.
It moves me inside ‒ for we lived so graciously ‒
That now instead of laughing I should embrace tears.
Even the wild birds are saddened by our lament:
is it surprising I am losing heart?
But what am I saying, o stupid man, because of my evil rage?
He who seeks happiness down here on Earth
has lost it up there in Heaven,
alas for ever.
O woe, how we’re ruined by the sweet things!
I see the gall floating right amid the honey.
The outer world is lovely, white, green and red,
but inside it’s black and dark as death.
Let he whom it has led astray be shown his comfort:
he shall by small penance be from great sin saved.
So knights, bear this in mind, it is your own affair:
you wear gleaming helmets and hard rings of mail,
sturdy shields and consecrated swords!
Would God I were worthy to take part in a crusade!
A poor man, I would earn rich reward.
Of course I don’t mean acres, nor nobles’ gold,
I mean to wear eternally the crown of bliss
a soldier of fortune seeks with his spear.
If I were able to make the dear journey over the sea,
I would sing ‘hurray’ and never more ‘alas’,
never more alas!
Passing on the Flame 