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    It sparkled, but her jewell'd vest
    Was crost above a troubled breast:
    Her curls, with all their sunny glow,
    Were braided o'er an aching brow:
    But well she knew how many sought
    To gaze upon her secret thought;—
    And Love is proud,—she might not brook
    That other's on her heart should look.
    But there she sate, cold, pale, and high,
    Beneath her purple canopy;
    And there was many a mutter'd word,
    And one low whisper'd name was heard,—
    The name of Eginhard,—that name
    Like some forbidden secret came.

        The theme went, that he dared to love
    One like a star his state above;