Upon the straw in the second hall
The soldiers are seen in their places;
Many thousand soldiers, a bearded race,
With warlike and insolent faces.
They all are full arm’d from top to toe,
Yet out of this countless number,
Not one of them moves, not one of them stirs,
They all are wrapp’d in slumber.
In the third of the halls in lofty piles
Swords, spears, and axes are lying,
And armour and helmets of silver and steel,
With old-fashion’d fire-arms vying.
The cannons are few, but yet are enough
To build up a trophy olden.
A standard projects from out of the heap,
Its colour is black-red-golden.
In the fourth of the halls the Emperor lives,
For many a century dosing
On a seat made of stone near a table of stone,
His head on his arm reposing.
His beard, which has grown right down to the ground,
Is red as a fiery ocean;
At times his eye to blink may be seen,
And his eyebrows are ever in motion.
But whether he sleeps or whether he thinks
For the present we cannot discover;
Yet when the proper hour has come,
He’ll shake himself all over.
His trusty banner he then will seize,
And “To horse! Quick to horse!” shout proudly;
His cavalry straight will awake and spring
From the earth, all rattling loudly.
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,—