That in the world thy name and rank are high,
And that when such as thou do proffer love
And faith to lowly maidens, 'tis a jest,--
And that when they have won our honest love,
They cast it from them with unpitying hands,
As idly as they would a withered flower.

Werner.

Nay, maiden, let me tell thee of the past,
Let me lay bare my heart beneath thy gaze,
And thou wilt pity if thou canst not love.
I loved in youth with love as fond and deep
As ever made the heart of man its slave,
But, ere my hopes could ripen to fruition,
Death came and made my worshipped one his prize;
And though my peace departed when she died,
Yet I was proud, and would not bond to sorrow,
But with calm brow and eye, and smiling lip,
I mingled with the giddy thoughtless world,
Seeking from out its varied realms to wring
Some recompense for that which I had lost.
Wealth, fame, and power, I sought for and obtained,
Yet found them only gilded mockeries.
The paths of hidden knowledge I essayed,
And trod their mazy windings till they led
My footsteps--whither I may not disclose,--
But all availed me nothing, still my heart
Ached with the dreary void lost love had made,
Ached ever till that void was filled by thee!