What bids me climb the path beside the mountain
To the down beyond the sheepfold? Who can tell?
Then take it, for this magic stone hath power
To change thee to the fairest; yet to me
Thou wert fairest as I knew thee in that hour
When a maiden dwelt in Zolden! Ah, take it, ’tis for thee!
Joan.
I would see a youth who comes from Freyden—
He is straighter than the mountain pine-trees grow;
Gossips say he comes to woo a maiden,