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Translated by J. O. Sargent A GOLDEN crown on the worn-out head is a heavy load for me, | |
My strong son, Max, the burden will be easier for thee! | |
The sceptre I wield tremblingly will rest firm in thy hand, | |
The old Emperor was thinking so, and so thought all the land. | |
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T is Maxs coronation. At Aix, in the minsters nave, | 5 |
Flash the mitres and the helmets, the silks and velvets wave; | |
On his brow the holy ointment inaugurates his reign, | |
And with steady grasp he handles the sword of Charlemagne. | |
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Behold Colognes gray bishop before the altar stand, | |
Like a true friend and cordial, Old Age now shakes his hand, | 10 |
Yet firmly and without trembling he places the jewelled crown, | |
He knows that on a better head priest never set it down. | |
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The organ has ceased its pealing. There follows a collation, | |
Where sit the lords and princes,to crown the coronation! | |
From urns of silver gurgle streams of refreshing wine, | 15 |
And blue clouds are curling upwards where the golden platters shine. | |
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The Palatine swung the goblet, and rose to a taunting toast: | |
To old father Rhine, a bumper! for who, my lords, will boast | |
That he can show a jewel, in all his broad domain, | |
Which, like my purple vintage, can fire the heart and brain? | 20 |
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Then the princes in succession praise the kingdom and the throne, | |
The old Emperor praises Austria, and each one lands his own; | |
To the Bishop his great minster the worlds great marvel seems; | |
And Louis of Bavaria lauds her meadows and blue streams. | |
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From Saxony, Sir Albert says, In sooth, my treasures shine | 25 |
As ores of gold and iron, in the dark shafts of the mine; | |
The gold our women teaches to be refined and pure, | |
The iron makes our manhood reliable and sure. | |
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Then spake the Wurtemberger, Count Everhard of the Beard, | |
Such jewels in my country have never yet appeared; | 30 |
But there s not in all its borders a wilderness so deep, | |
That, on a subjects pillow there, I could not safely sleep. | |
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Max once in such a contest would have had a word to say; | |
But now the dark earth buries all the brightness of his day: | |
In melancholy silence a moment lost he stands. | 35 |
In his own, then, gently presses the Wurtembergers hands. | |
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