The guests have met in the castle hall.
Who rides through the castle gate,
With banner and plume? The young bridegroom
And a hundred knights in state.
The guests have met in procession fair,
Around the bride they stand;
The myrtle wreath on her golden hair,
The bride ring on her hand.
So bright her beauty she dazed men's eyes,
Like the blinding, glorious sun.
"Never knight," they murmured, "gained such prize
Since ever the world begun."
Seven maidens held up her train of white,
Inwrought with the precious gold,
And over it flowed in a stream of light
Her long, bright hair unrolled.
Seven pages, each with a lighted torch,
Precede her as she moves
With the long array to the ancient church
Within the beechen groves.
The priest stood mute with the holy book,
And scarce could utter a prayer,
As that lovely vision of light and youth
Knelt down before him there.
She vows the vows. Erick bends to place
The gold ring on her hand,
Prouder then, as he gazed on her face,
Than if King of the Swedish land.
The lights were bright in the hall that night,
But brighter Thekla's glance,
As in wedded pride, by Erick's side,
She led the bridal dance.