Up on the summit of the mountain

Up on the summit of the mountain

the castle stands shrouded in night;

but in the valley, lightning blazes

and bright swords clash savagely.

It is brothers fencing

a grim duel there, enraged with anger.

Tell me, why are brothers fighting

with sword in hand?

Countess Laura's sparkling eyes

ignited the brothers' strife:

both smoulder, intoxicated with love,

for the noble, lovely maid.

But to which of the two

does her heart lean?

No musing can decide it;

so out comes the sword - you shall decide!

And they fight on keenly, foolhardily,

blow upon blow cracking down.

Beware, you savage swordsmen.

Grisly illusion creeps about in the night.

Woe! Woe! Bloody brothers!

Woe! Woe! Bloody valley!

Both fighters fall,

each upon the other's steel.

Many centuries drift past,

graves cover many generations;

mournfully from the heights of the mountain

the deserted castle looks down.

But at night, in the depths of the valley,

something is moving secretly, wondrously:

when the twelfth hour arrives,

the pair of brothers are fighting there.