whether contact with Southern Italy, or the
Crusades in Asia Minor, Syria, and Palestine, have enriched the
art of poetry in Germany with new natural pictures, can only
generally be answered by the negative. It is not remarked that
the acquaintance with the East gave any new direction to the
songs of the minstrels. The Crusaders came little into actual
contact with the Saracens; they even lived in a state of great
restraint with other nations who fought in the same cause. One of
the oldest lyric poets was Friedrich of Hausen. He perished in
the army of Barbarossa. His songs contain many views of the
Crusades; but they chiefly express religious sentiments on the
pain of being separated from his dear friends. He found no
occasion to say anything concerning the country or any of those
who took part in the wars, as Reinmar the Elder, Rubin, Neidhart,
and Ulrich of Lichtenstein. Reinmar came a pilgrim to Syria, as
it appears, in the train of Leopold the 6th, Duke of Austria. He
complains that the recollections of his country always haunted
him, and drew away his thoughts from God. The date tree has here
been mentioned sometimes, when they speak of the palm branches
which pious pilgrims bore upon their shoulders. I do not remember
that the splendid scenery in Italy has excited the fancy of the
minstrels who crossed the Alps. Walther, who had wandered about,
had only seen the river Po; but Friedank was at Rome. He merely
remarked that grass grew in the palaces of those who formerly
bore sway there.

As a fact, even the greatest Minnesinger, Walther, the master lyrist
of the thirteenth century, was not ahead of his contemporaries in
this matter. His _Spring Longing_ begins:

Winter has wrought us harm everywhere,
Forest and field are dreary and bare
Where the sweet voices of summer once were,
Yet by the road where I see maiden fair
Tossing the ball, the birds' song is there.

and _Spring and Women_:

When flowers through the grass begin to spring
As though to greet with smiles the sun's bright rays,
On some May morning, and in joyous measure,
Small songbirds make the dewy forest ring
With a sweet chorus of sweet roundelays,
Hath life in all its store a purer pleasure?
'Tis half a Paradise on earth.
Yet ask me what I hold of equal worth,
And I will tell what better still
Ofttimes before hath pl