In this romantic neighbourhood, in the thick fir forest, stand the crumbling tower and scraps of broken walls of the Königsburg, overshadowed by the green veil of the wood, moss, ivy, and wild-flowers, and the mystic fascination of a time more than a thousand years ago.
Desolate stand the ruins of the once imperial hunting seat, the moat so thickly overgrown with the buck-thorn that no human foot would willingly attempt to tread it.
A light sighing stirs in the foliage like a ghostly breath from the primeval days.
Dost thou remember the time when we listened to the rustling and moaning of the fir-trees, like echoes of the voices of olden times? In our dreams we saw the ancient Königsburg in splendour, heard the forest ring with the noise of the hunt, saw the troop of huntsmen ride back to the castle, among them many a knight, earl, and prince, and foremost rode the Kaiser with his blushing daughter Reinhilde.
How radiant was the royal maiden, her green veil floating on the breeze, her clear eyes gazing fearlessly around her, her sweet face smiling like a bright morning in spring.
The Kaiser bends to her and whispers in her ear.
Why do her blushing cheeks turn pale? What has caused the smile to vanish so suddenly from her face, and the tears to rush to her eyes?
She turns in fear and looks upon her following train. Why does a noble knightly countenance there also turn pale?
The Kaiser glances in surprise at his shrinking daughter.
"Dear little Reinhilde, have I grieved thee? Hast thou understood me? Two princes beg the honour of thy hand."