Friedrich Rothbart

Far within the lone Kyffhauser,
With a lamp red glimmering by
Sits the aged Emperor Frederick,
At a marble table nigh.

Covered with a purple mantle,
And in armor glancing bright,
Still upon his moveless eyelids
Lieth slumber's heavy night.

On his features, calm yet earnest,
Love and sternness each is shown,
And Lis beard, so long and golden.
Through the marble stone hath grown.

Here, like brazen statues standing,
All his knights their lord surround,
Sword begirt, in armor gleaming,
But like him in slumber bound.

Henry, he of Ofterdingen,
Mid the silent ranks is there,
With his lips so skilled in singing.
And his yellow curling hair.

By his side his harp reclineth.
Like its master, voiceless now,
But a coming song is sleeping
Yet upon his noble brow.

All is silent, save the moisture
Dropping slowly from the wall, —
Silent, till the appointed morning
Breaks in glory over all.

Till the eagle's mighty pinions
Round the mountain-summit play,
At whose rush the swarming ravens.
Quick affrighted, flee away.

Comes a sound like far-off thunder,
Rolling through the mountain then,
And the eniperor grasps his sword-hilt.
And the knifjhls awake again.

Loud upon its hinges sounding,
Open springs the brazen door,
Barbarossa and his followers
Walk in bright array once more.

On his helm the crown he beareth,
And the sceptre in his hand;
Swords are glancing, harps are ringing,
Where he moveth through the land.

All before the monarch bending
Render him the homage due,
And the holy German Empire
Foundeth he at Aix anew.