Brothers are fighting there,
rage-inflamed, a dreadful duel.
Pray, why are those brothers fighting,
each of them with sword in hand?
Countess Laura’s sparkling eyes
kindled the brothers’ quarrel;
Both burn with love and passion
for that sweet and noble maid.
But to which of them
does her heart incline?
No pondering can resolve it—
Out, then, sword, let you decide!
And bold and rash they do battle,
blow upon blow crashes down.
Beware, O savage warriors,
night brings cruel strokes of fortune.
Alack, alack now, bloody brothers!
Alack, alack now, bloody vale!
Both fighters are felled,
each by the other’s sword.
Many centuries pass,
many generations die away;
Sadly from the mountain heights
the castle, desolate, looks down.
But at night, deep in the valley,
a secret wonder comes about;
At the first stroke of midnight,
still the brothers fight it out.