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Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say,
" Peace !"
Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals
The holy melodies of love arise.
In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad
meadow-lands Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg,
the ancient, stands.
Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old
town of art and song, Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the
rooks that round them throng :
Memories of the Middle Ages, when the em
perors, rough and bold, Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying,
centuries old ;
And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in
their uncouth rhyme, That their great imperial city stretched its hand
through every clime.
In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many
an iron band, Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen
On the square the oriel window, where in old
heroic days Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximil