On three sides the mountain rises steep from the Bode, being scarcely approachable save from the south side; and in wild confusion lie scattered over the mountain sides shapeless heaps of fallen stones, the sole ruins of the once stately castle; of walls and vaulted chambers no trace remains.
From the south side the height is connected by a narrow tongue of land with the vast forests that cover the high table-lands of the Harz.
Seldom is the spot trodden by the foot of man, except by some benighted traveller, some inquisitive student of history, and the passionate lover of wood and mountain solitude.
More frequently resounds the tread of the hunter in this lonely spot, and of the herdsman, who pastures his cows in the beech forest.
Once a herdsman stood, on St. John's Day, on the narrow path leading to the then not entirely fallen walls, and dreamed of the days of the past, of the Burg and its knights, dames, and maidens, and the treasures that were said to lie concealed under the ruins.
The forest rustled mysteriously, mingled with the dreamy tinkling of the cow-bells.
Suddenly it seemed to him he heard a tumbling noise and loud, merry laughter. This was wonderful, but what he saw was still more astounding. For, stealing forward and looking over the broken walls, he saw twelve knights in antique costume, who amused themselves with the game of skittles.
The herdsman was not sure whether he was awake or dreaming. He rubbed his eyes, and looked bewildered around him, but it could be no illusion, for there stood the oaks and beeches, every tree of which he knew, there grazed his herd to the music of their jingling bells, the dogs cowering watchfully near, and from the valley could be heard the rattle of the foundry.
He saw it all clearly, for it was mid-day, and there within the mouldering walls the twelve knights played on, and he heard the rolling and bouncing of the balls.
But he had not much time for observation, for the knights caught sight of him, and beckoned him to approach.