And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, Through these streets so broad and stately, 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,

these obscure and dismal lanes, Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting

From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild,

Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in Cunigunde's hand;

ΙΟ

spouts the swallows build.