Page:Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (IA diemeistersinger68wagn).pdf/35
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The Master Singers of Nuremberg.
31
Sore need with wings supplieth;
It mounts in flight
To giddy height.
From the city's tomb,
Through heaven's pure dome,
To the hills of home it hieth,
Towards the verdant Vogelweid'
Where Master Walter lived and died;
And there I'll rightly raise
In song my lady's praise:
Up shall soar,
When raven-Masters croak no more,
My noble loving lay.—
Farewell, ye Masters, for aye!
It mounts in flight
To giddy height.
From the city's tomb,
Through heaven's pure dome,
To the hills of home it hieth,
Towards the verdant Vogelweid'
Where Master Walter lived and died;
And there I'll rightly raise
In song my lady's praise:
Up shall soar,
When raven-Masters croak no more,
My noble loving lay.—
Farewell, ye Masters, for aye!
(With a gesture of proud contempt he leaves the Singer's seat and quits the building.)
Sachs (following Walter's song).
Ha! what a flow
Of genius glow!—
My Masters, pray now give o'er!
Listen, when Sachs doth implore—!
Friend Marker, there! grant us some peace!
Let others listen!—Why don't you cease?—
No use! A vain endeavour!
I can scarcely my own voice hear!
They'll heed the young fellow never:
He's bold indeed to persevere!
His heart must be placed aright:
A true-born poet-knight!
Hans Sachs may make both voice and shoe;
A knight is he and a poet too.
Of genius glow!—
My Masters, pray now give o'er!
Listen, when Sachs doth implore—!
Friend Marker, there! grant us some peace!
Let others listen!—Why don't you cease?—
No use! A vain endeavour!
I can scarcely my own voice hear!
They'll heed the young fellow never:
He's bold indeed to persevere!
His heart must be placed aright:
A true-born poet-knight!
Hans Sachs may make both voice and shoe;
A knight is he and a poet too.
The Prentices.
(who have been rubbing their hands in glee and jumping up from their bench, towards the end, take hands and dance in a ring round the Marker's box).
God speed your Master-singing,
And may you the prize soon be winning:
The wreath of flowers in silk so bright,
I hope it may fall to your lot, sir knight!
And may you the prize soon be winning:
The wreath of flowers in silk so bright,
I hope it may fall to your lot, sir knight!
Beckmesser.
Now Masters, give it your tongue!
(Most of them hold up their hands.)
All the Masters.
Rejected and outsung!
(General confusion, augmented by the Prentices, who shoulder the benches and Marker's box, causing hindrance and disorder to the Masters who are crowding to the door. Sachs remains alone in front, looking pensively at the empty seat; when the boys remove this too, he turns away with a humorous gesture of discouragement, and the curtain falls.)
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