The Tomb of Charlemagne

AMID the torch-lit gloom of Aachen’s aisle

Stood Otho, Germany’s imperial lord,

Regarding, with a melancholy smile,

A simple stone, where, fitly to record

A world of action by a single word,

Was graven “Carlo-Magno.” Regal style

Was needed none: that name such thoughts restored

As sadden, yet make nobler men the while.

They rolled the marble back: with sudden gasp

A moment o’er the vault the kaiser bent,

Where still a mortal monarch seemed to reign.

Crowned, on his throne, a sceptre in his grasp,

Perfect in each gigantic lineament,

Otho looked face to face on Charlemagne!