IV.
Beneath the castle window
Each night were heard the strains
Of a poor love-smitten noble,
Who lived away out on the plains,
And walked ten weary miles each night,
To woo the Baron’s daughter,
Who lived in the gloomy castle
That stood by the Rhine’s blue water.
Oh, Kleinfelter burned with a desperate passion,
And he fixed it in music somewhat to this fashion:
“Oh transcendental Hinda,
Look from thy latticed window,
As here I sadly linger
And with a trembling finger
I thrum the strings
Of my sad guitar,
Or knock the ashes
From my fragrant cigar
Fairest of Heaven’s handiwork,
Sweetest of nature’s candy-work,
Here I pledge upon thine altar,
Love that knows not how to falter.
Grant, oh, grant some sweet return,
Nor my deep devotion spurn;
Let me have thy gentle heart or
Even a buckle of your garter!”