The city sleeps with thee tonight,
O Princess in thy slumber,
Up in a castle saved from fright:
Thy prince becomes a capture.
Of all the stories man hath made,
None tells of such a beauty,
As that of thee, O Handsome Maid.
Now cursed sleep befalls thee!
The curse was laid before thou spok’st,
When Evil wrought her witch-spell.
The angels wept, within their host,
While laughter came from burn-hell.
The witch she cursed thy sixteenth year,
That on this day thou slumber,
That from this sleep there be no cure—
Instead, forever under!
Now good found hope by sowing seeds:
True love may now prevail it.
For though thy sleep could not be ceased,
A true love’s kiss can break it.
And when the curse, by destiny,
Compelled thee to thy resting,
The noble prince, in search of thee,
Was captured by her witching.
But lo, the prince hath broken chains,
By which his capture held him;
And now, soon facing heaven’s banes,
To rescue thee, rebukes them.
“That ye might wage a cursed war,
On such a blessed maiden!
For this I smite you to your core,
Ye wretches, thorns, and dragon!”
So spoke the prince as minions fell
And as he trekked the thornbush.
But now upon the spawn of hell,
The dragon-witch doth ambush.
The fire missiles crash and burst,
Reflecting witchly ire.
But fain thy prince endures the worst:
He thinks of thee, much higher.
Now trapped beneath the brow of death,
He makes his final standing.
Thy prince, with sword, doth smite the witch—
The dragon, slain, now falling.
Upon thy bedside doth he rest,
The evils having vanquished.
Now gently leaned upon thy breast,
He sees thy gentle languish.
He sees thee, princess—hypnotized—
And marvels at thy beauty.
The true loves kiss now realized,
Your tender hearts now wake thee.