In the quiet twilight there stands
The old cliff-face, desolate and plundered;
A night-bird circles in lazy swooping,
Lamenting, about its mossy top.

But as the moon breaks forth from the clouds,
And with it the clear legion of the stars,
The cliff-face is suffused with an uncanny light,
Out of which noble images are formed.

The old castle with tower and gate
Arises clearly from the clouds,
The old lime tree greens aloft,
And all becomes as it once was.

The [sounds of the] harp, as well as the blast of trumpets
Resounds down into the green valley,
Upon a black steed approaches
The hero Barbarossa, clad in armour.

And the lovely [couple] Philipp and Irene
Wander to the lime tree hand in hand:
A bird sings with a sweet sound
Of the beautiful Grecian homeland.

And Conrad, full of virtue,
The sweet youth, poor, robbed,
In the garden he stands mute and pale:
The lily bows her mourning head.

But when now from the dark valley
The red rooster announces the pale day,
Then the cliff-face stands completely desolate and bare,
The castle has vanished.

In its place stands a thorn-bush,
The morning blows coldly upon the heights, -
And like the cliff-face, cold and desolate,
The German lands seem to lie all around.