The sunny south hath heard his voice, The frigid north his face hath seen, The patriarch east, his foot hath trod The barbarous west--his own hath been, The common air proclaimed his name, Where’ere the breath of heaven hath blown, His sceptred galleys walked the main; And claimed it as their own. Still ask you of the silent guest, Who finds in death his bed below; Pavia,[16] hast thou the secret kept, Nor thou revealed it Ronceveaux? Brave brotherhood of Paladin’s Bear ye no witness of his reign? Ye kingly minstrels--answer us, Who sang of Charlemagne! Say hero did thy lordly will In death demand a monarch’s throne, To bear into eternity, What time had made thine own! The regal crown that prince’s wear, The royal robe--the well proved shield, The good sword of thy red right hand, Which only thine could wield. Repose brave spirit for the day, Of stormy strife hath long been o’er, Rest till the last dread trumpet bray, And thou awake to sleep no more. Time hath not seen thy kindred soul, Its roll of fame is still unfurled, Peace to thee, rock of Chrystendom, Whose deeds have filled the world! Aix-la-Chapelle, as a city, is, as I have said, eminently Catholic, and the minster is at all times crowded with devotees, and objects of the most pitiable deformity. The “treasury” of the Cathedral too, is surprisingly rich in relics, girdles of the virgin, the napkin in which Herodias’ daughter received the head of John the Baptist, Aron’s rod, a stick of the true cross, some genuine manna from the wilderness, and a whole inventory of such other trumpery as are usually to be found in these pious “marine stores.” Still the Dom Kirke is a most interesting spot, for there is a sufficiency of reality about it, to connect its present condition with the past. Not far from the minster is one of those atrocious bagnios, the disgrace and disgust of continental watering places, a licensed hell--to the modified credit of Prussia, it is the _only one_ in her dominions, and tolerated only on the humiliating representation, that were it abolished, our countrymen and others would utterly desert the baths of Aix-la-Chapelle, for the more distant Brunnens of Nassau and Baden, which would still continue the dishonoring attraction. The inhabitants themselves, however, and the officers of the garrison are strictly forbidden to cross the threshold--a striking rebuke to the crowds of strangers who frequent it. It seems to be a spacious building with no external attractions, and the lower story occupied by fancy shops and booksellers.