Feebly drooping hung her snowy arms.
’Twas no arrow that had pierced her heart,
’Twas no adder that had stung her so;
Weeping, thus the lovely maid began:
“Fare thee well, belovèd, fare thee well,
Dearest soul, thy father’s dearest son!
I have been betrothed since yesterday;
Come, to-morrow, troops of wedding guests;
To the altar I, perforce, must go!
I shall be another’s then; and yet