Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MINSTREL'S CURSE, by JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MINSTREL'S CURSE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Once in olden times was standing
Last Line: This is the minstrel's curse.
Subject(s): Curses; Minstrels; Murder


ONCE in olden times was standing
A castle, high and grand,
Broad glancing in the sunlight,
Far over sea and land.
And round were fragrant gardens,
A rich and blooming crown;
And fountains, playing in them,
In rainbow brilliance shone.

There a haughty king was seated,
In lands and conquests great;
Pale and awful was his countenance,
As on his throne he sate;
For what he thinks, is terror,
And what he looks, is wrath,
And what he speaks, is torture,
And what he writes, is death.

There came unto this castle
A gentle minstrel pair—
The one with locks, bright, golden;
The other gray of hair;
With harp in hand, the elder
A noble courser rode,
While beautiful, beside him
His young companion strode.

Said the elder to the younger,
"Now be prepared, my son!
Oh, let the lay be lofty,
And stirring be the tone;
Put forth thy grandest power;
Of joy and sorrow sing,
To touch the stony bosom
Of this remorseless king."

And now within the castle
These gentle minstrels stand.
On his throne the king is seated,
With the queen at his right hand;
The king in fearful splendor,
Like the Northern Lights' red glare;
The queen, so sweet and gentle,
Like a moonbeam resting there.

The old man struck the harp-strings,
Most wonderful to hear,
As richer, ever richer,
Swell'd the music on the ear.
Then rose with heavenly clearness
The stripling's voice of fire;
And then they sang together,
Like a distant angel-choir.

They sing of love and springtime,
Of happy, golden days;
Of manly worth and freedom
They sing the glorious praise;
They sing of all the beauty
The heart of man that thrills;
They sing of all the greatness
The soul of man that fills.

The courtly circle round them
Forget for once to sneer;
And bow those iron warriors,
As though a god were near.
The queen, in softness melting,
Forgets her sparkling crown,
And the rose from out her bosom
To the minstrels she throws down.

"Ye have seduced my people;
What, traitors, do ye mean?"
The king, he shriek'd in frenzy,
"Seduce ye now my queen?"
His sword, that gleamed like lightning,
At the stripling's heart he flings;
And thence, instead of golden songs,
The gushing life-blood springs.

The rapture of the listeners
Dies down as at a blast;
Upon his master's bosom
The youth has breathed his last.
The old man wraps his mantle
Around the bloody corse,
And then he firmly binds it
Erect upon his horse.

Yet, when he reach'd the gateway,
Then paused the minstrel old,
And took his harp so wondrous,
And broke its strings of gold,
And 'gainst a marble pillar
He shiver'd it in twain;
And thus his curse he shouted,
Till the castle rang again:

"Woe, woe, thou haughty castle,
With all thy gorgeous halls!
Sweet string or song be sounded
No more within thy walls.
No, sighs alone, and wailing,
And the coward steps of slaves!
Already round thy towers
The avenging spirit raves!

"Woe, woe, ye fragrant gardens,
With all your fair May light!
Look on this ghastly countenance,
And wither at the sight!
Let all your flowers perish!
Be all your fountains dry!
Henceforth a horrid wilderness,
Deserted, wasted, lie!

"Woe, woe, thou wretched murderer,
Thou curse of minstrelsy!
Thy struggles for a bloody fame,
All fruitless shall they be.
Thy name shall be forgotten,
Lost in eternal death,
Dissolving into empty air
Like a dying man's last breath!"

The old man's curse is utter'd,
And Heaven above hath heard.
Those walls have fallen prostrate
At the minstrel's mighty word.
Of all that vanish'd splendor
Stands but one column tall;
And that, already shatter'd,
Ere another night may fall.

Around, instead of gardens,
In a desert heathen land,
No tree its shade dispenses,
No fountains cool the sand.
The king's name, it has vanish'd;
His deeds no songs rehearse;
Departed and forgotten—
This is the minstrel's curse.





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