At Weinsberg there stands a hill
That bears ruins of grey antiquity,
In which the breath of the west wind’s wings
Strikes a harp in the silent night.

If you hear this foreign sounding
From the mountain through the surrounding vineyards,
You ask:  Whence comes this singing?
Is Nature singing of her sorrow?

I, a poor, half-blind fellow,
Recently sat there upon a mossy stone,
When the sound kindled
Within me the brightest light.

Yes, thanks be to the dream vision
That dissipated the outer night for me!
Within me in the brightest light
Stand the ancient times of this mountain.

High towers loom there,
A long knight’s castle stands there,
The circular ramparts, rocky protection,
Gaze proudly into the valley.

There valiant knights ride
In armour through the iron gate;
But from behind the dungeon bars
Come cries of agony instead of the sounds of a harp.

And in the castle chapel
There kneels in deep darkness,
Robbed of her eyesight,
The pious countess Luitgardis.

She speaks, and tears flowed:
“My child today has garlanded
Your image with lilies and roses,
Oh Mother of God, rich and gentle!

Only once more let me see
My husband, my sweet child!
Then I would, if according to God’s purpose
It must be, gladly become blind again.”

Long she pled thus in the nights,
Until outdoors as well light died;
When suddenly at her right hand
Mary stood radiant and spoke:

“Oh suffering of mankind! you have boundaries!
You [countess] shall receive more than you entreated!
Look up, and see sparkling
The star that shines brightly toward the east!”

The window of the chapel
Is blown open by the scent of paradise;
The countess looks up brightly
And sees the star in the blue heavens;

Sees the Mother of God smiling gently
From the golden heights;
A wondrously sweet scent fills
The valley of vineyards all around [the castle].

Tears of gratitude flowed
From clear eyes, nevermore blind again,
Upon the roses on the altar
And tears of joy upon husband and child.

And there where she had seen
The bright star over the distant forest,
She built a nunnery,
And in gratitude she called it: [Lichtenstern]1.

I hear the bells ringing,
Hear in the sanctuary of the choir
Many delicate voices singing:
“Praise and glory to the Mother of God.”

The shimmer of the image I saw inside myself
Vanished reluctantly from my soul.
The castle lay in ruins,
The chapel was no longer standing.

And from out the stone walls
The melancholy sound of the Aeolian harp rang out,
As if nature had erected here
An asylum for mourning.

I cried out:  "Oh you chapel!
Show me only a single stone of yours!
Upon it I shall fervently pray
For the restoration of my eyesight.

And Thou, Mary, Pure One,
When it comes time for night to cover my eyes,
Appear to me here in love
And show me the splendour of a single star!

I cannot build a convent;2
But Mother of God! my song
Shall ring out in praise and glory
Of fair women my whole life long!"