GHTH PART.

THE CONCERT IN THE GARDEN PAVILION.

In the garden of the castle
Mighty chestnut trees are standing,
And a pretty gay pavilion.
In the Rhine are deeply sunken
The foundations of the terrace.
'Tis a quiet cosy corner,
Hidden by a mass of foliage.
While below the waves are murmuring.

For the last two months, mysterious
Business has been going on here.
Pots of colours, painting brushes,
Lime and mortar, masons' trowels
And high scaffoldings are rising
To the dome of the pavilion.
Is't some evil spirit's workshop?--
'Tis no evil spirit's workshop.
Frescoes here are being painted,
And the legs which there are dangling
From the lofty wooden scaffold,
Are the legs of the illustrious
Fresco-painter Fludribus,
Who returning from Italia
Had been living in the Rhine-land.
He was pleased with the fair country,
And the rosy happy faces,
And the cellars full of wine.
All the people wondered at him
As they would at an enchanter;
For he told them marvellous stories.
In his youth he had been travelling,
And by chance once in Bologna
Came upon the school of artists.
In the studio of Albini
He became a colour-mixer;
And from this most graceful master
He found out with ready cunning
How to paint both gods and heroes,
And the airy little cupids.
Yes, he even helped the master,
Making easy light gradations,
Or preparing the dead colouring.

On the Rhine, far round the country
Fludribus was the sole artist.
Painted many tavern sign-boards,
Pictures also for the chapels,
Portraits e'en of brides of peasants.
Stable was his reputation;
For if any criticisers
Would find fault with his great paintings,
That an arm or nose was crooked,
Or a cheek looked too much swollen,
Then he would overwhelm his critics
With the big high-sounding phrases
He had learnt when at Bologna.
Hearing nothing but perspective,
Colouring and soft gradation,
Modelling and bold foreshortening,
Soon they lost their wits entirely.

Margaretta, who with faithful
Love had long the matter pondered,
How she would surprise her father
With a pleasure on his b