Each man will forthwith leap on his horse, Each stamping his hoofs and neighing; They’ll ride abroad in the clattering world, While their trumpets are merrily playing. Right well they ride, and right well they fight, No longer they slumber supinely; In terrible judgment the Emperor sits, To punish the murd’rers condignly,-- The murderers foul, who murder’d erst Her whose beauty such awe did inspire, The golden-hair’d maiden Germania hight,-- O Sun, thou accusing fire! Full many who deem’d themselves safely hid, And sat in their castles cheerful, Shall then not escape Barbarossa’s fierce wrath, And the cord of vengeance fearful. My old nurse’s tales, how sweetly they ring, How dear are the thoughts they inspire! My heart superstitiously shouts with joy: “O Sun, thou accusing fire!” CAPUT XV. A fine and prickly rain now descends, Like needle-tops cold, and wetting; The horses mournfully waggle their tails, And wade through the mud with sweating. Upon his horn the postilion blows The old tune loved so dearly: “Three horsemen are riding out at the gate”-- Its memory crosses me clearly. I sleepy grew, and at length went to sleep, And as for my dream, this is it: To the Emperor Barbarossa I In the wondrous mount paid a visit. On his stony seat by the table of stone Like an image no longer I saw him, Nor had he that very respectable look With which for the most part they draw him. He waddled about with me round the halls Discoursing with much affection, Like an antiquarian pointing out The gems of his precious collection. In the hall of armour he show’d with a club How the strength of a blow to determine, And rubb’d off the dust from a few of the swords With his own imperial ermine. He took in his hand a peacock’s fan, And clean’d full many a dusty Old piece of armour, and many a helm, And many a morion rusty. The standard he carefully dusted too, And said, “My greatest pride is, “That not e’en one moth hath eaten the silk, “And not e’en one insect inside is.” And when we came to the second hall, Where asleep on the ground were lying Many thousand arm’d warriors, the old man said, Their forms with contentment eyeing: “We must take care, while here, not to waken the men, “And make no noise in the gallery; “A hundred years have again passed away, “And to-day I must pay them their salary.” And see! the Emperor softly approach’d, While he held in his hand a ducat, And quietly into the pocket of each Of the sleeping soldiery stuck it. And then he remark’d with a simpering face, When I observ’d him with wonder: “I give them a ducat apiece as their pay, “At periods a century asunder.”