I can right well my life defend."
As thus she spoke these words of pride,
The hermit off his robe did throw;
She snatched the dagger from his side,
And pierced his heart with deadly blow.
"Oh, who has slain my lover true,
That lies before me on the ground?"
"'T was you, my lady, only you
Had fateful power to give the wound."
Rise up, Maria, from your knees,