"Knight, to love thee like a sister
Vows this heart to thee;
Ask no other warmer feeling,—
That were pain to me.
Tranquil would I see thee coming,
Tranquil see thee go;
What that starting tear would tell me
I must never know.”
He with silent anguish listens,
Though his heart-strings bleed;
Clasps her in his last embraces,
Springs upon his steed,
Summons every faithful vassal
From his Alpine home,
Binds the cross upon his bosom,
Seeks the Holy Tomb.
There full many a deed of glory
Wrought the hero’s arm;
Foremost still his plumage floated
Where the foemen swarm;
Till the Moslem, terror-stricken,
Quailed before his name.
But the pang that wrings his bosom
Lives at heart the same.
Vows this heart to thee;
Ask no other warmer feeling,—
That were pain to me.
Tranquil would I see thee coming,
Tranquil see thee go;
What that starting tear would tell me
I must never know.”
He with silent anguish listens,
Though his heart-strings bleed;
Clasps her in his last embraces,
Springs upon his steed,
Summons every faithful vassal
From his Alpine home,
Binds the cross upon his bosom,
Seeks the Holy Tomb.
There full many a deed of glory
Wrought the hero’s arm;
Foremost still his plumage floated
Where the foemen swarm;
Till the Moslem, terror-stricken,
Quailed before his name.
But the pang that wrings his bosom
Lives at heart the same.
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