Yestere'en the cloisters pale
Saw the bride betroth'd to heaven."

From the castle of his sires,
Mad with grief, the hero flew;
War no more his bosom fires,
Arms he spurns, and courser true.
Far from Toggenburg alone
Wends he on his secret way,
To friend and foe alike unknown,
Clad in peasant's mean array.

On a mountain's lonesome glade,
'Neath a hut he sought repose--
Near where 'mid the lime-tree's shade,
The convent pinnacles arose;
There, from morning's dawn first bright'ning
Till the ev'ning stars began,
Secret hopes his anguish light'ning,
Sate the solitary man.

On the cloister fixed his eye,
Thro' the hours' weary round,
To his maiden's lattice nigh,
Till he heard that lattice sound--
Till that dearest form was seen--
Till she on her lover smil'd--
And the turret-grates between
Look'd devout and _angel-mild_.[4]