Who wound my heart, (God pardon it!)
As if they wished me dead.

My father was a wealthy Count:
The inheritance now mine--
Would I were poor! this wretched wealth
'Tis makes me to repine.

My uncle thirsteth, day and night,
For my possessions rare,
And therefore shuts me in this tower.
Hard-hearted and severe.

Here shall I bide, he threatens, choose
I not, in three days, whether
I wed his son, or leave the world.
For a cloister, altogether.

How quickly might the choice be made.
And I the veil assume,
Ah, had my youthful heart not loved
A youth in beauty's bloom.

The youngest at the tournament,
I saw him, and I loved,
So free, so noble, and so bold--
No one like him approved!"

"Be, noble lady, of good cheer.
No cloister shalt thou see,