THE MINNÉSINGERS LIED
IN the Rheingan standeth Aix,
And in Aix is La Chapelle;
On a royal marble daïs,
Underneath a vaulted dome,
With his feet upon a tomb,
Sits a dread and fearsome Thing
As ever minstrel-poet sang!
Dead two hundred years! a King
On his throne sits Charlemagne
In his capital of Aix!
In awful state that mighty Shade
Sitteth in its chair of stone;
In the hand, long ages dead,
The sword with unsheathed blade
And sceptre bright with gems;
On the breast a cross of lead,
On the form a golden gown,
And circling on his head
The French and German diadems
And the Lombard crown!
And throughout the centuries old,
Underneath the vaulted dome,
With his feet upon a tomb,
Alone and ghastly, stern and cold,
In silence save when midnight tolls
And its heavy murmur rolls
All among the columns round
With a solemn measured clang,—
In the silentness profound,
Sits the shade of Charlemagne
Armed and crowned!