Wilt thou not aid him? wilt not thou
Shield his gray head from danger now?
And didst thou not, in childhood’s morn,
That saw our young affection born,
Hang round his neck, and climb his knee,
Sharing his parent smile with me?
Kind, gentle Ulric! best beloved!
Now be thy faith in danger proved!
Though snares and terrors round him wait,
Thou wilt not leave him to his fate!