Where in a shady garden-nook
A beauteous maid with downcast look
Was sitting where a stream was flowing,
With elder bushes near it growing;
She sat beneath an apple-tree,
And nought around her seemed to see.
Her lap was full of roses fair,
Which in a wreath she twined with care,
And with them leaves and blossoms blended:
For whom was that sweet wreath intended?
Thus sat she, modest and retired,
Her bosom throbbed, with hope inspired;
Such deep forebodings filled her mind,
No room for wishing could she find,
And with the thoughts that o'er it flew,
Perchance a sigh was mingled, too.
"But why should sorrow cloud thy brow?
That, dearest love, which fills thee now
Is fraught with joy and ecstasy,
Prepared in one alone for thee,
That he within thine eye may find
Solace when fortune proves unkind,
And be new-born through many a kiss,
That he receives with inward bliss;
Whene'er he clasps thee to his breast,
May he from all his toils find rest.
When he in thy dear arms shall sink,
May he new life and vigour drink:
Fresh joys of youth shalt thou obtain,
In merry jest rejoice again.
With raillery and roguish spite,
Thou now shalt tease him, now delight.
Thus Love will never more grow old.
Thus will the minstrel ne'er be cold."
While he thus lives, in secret blessed,
