"Full seven years you shall me hold,
(Seven years' bliss for Wêland-Smith!)
Full seven years you shall me hold.
When the seventh year is told,
Like a parchment read and scrolled—
Ah, but, lord, inscribed in gold!—
That we may no more unfold
(Only think on, Wêland-Smith),
"I shall know a strange unrest,
(Dread the eighth year, Wêland-Smith!)