Far less of that bad cruel man
The daughter ever be.

I can, I will deliver thee,
I have resolved it too,
To yield thee to thy youngling's arms.
As I am a Stolberg true!"

"Thou? Stolberg? O my grief is gone!
Mine angel led thee, sure;
Thou art the dear, dear youth for whom
These sorrows I endure.

Now say I free and openly,
What then my looks confest,
When I, my love, thy earliest lance
With oaken garland drest."

"O God! thou? my beloved child,
Eliza Mansfield Dove,
I loved thee, too, with the first look,
As none did ever love.

See on my lance the garland yet,
It ever carries there;
O could'st thou see thy image too,
Imprinted deeply here!

And now, why loiter we? Ere shine
The sun, I'll bring thee home,