Ah! there by the mountain-lake once,
On my head was placed a garland.
'Twas love's crown of thorns you gave me,
And in silence I have worn it.
Could I speak, O could the homeless
Trumpeter his yearnings utter
Boldly to fair Margaretta?
Unto you as to an angel,
Who is guarding us poor mortals
Did I look in silent worship,