My father always called me his
_Good_ child whom he loved dearly.

My dying mother on my head
Poured her best blessings forth:
It may in heaven be fulfill'd,
But surely not on earth!

Change not this blessing to a curse
For those who me offend.
O God! forgive them what they do,
And cause them to amend.

Ah, I with patience might bear all,
If, Love, thou wouldst not be,
Thou who consumest my troubled heart
With hopeless agony!

If now, while one sweet hope remains,
I cannot this endure;
Thou breakest then, poor heart. So, 'till
Thou breakest, hold it sure."

Meanwhile, sweeps on a knightly man,
Upon his gallant steed,
And reaches, guided by the path,
The castle bridge, with speed.

There deeply sank into his heart,
The plaint of the ladye,