“Art thou not now thine Ulric’s bride?
Hence, leave me—leave me to await,
In solitude, the storm of Fate;
Thou know’st not what my doom may be,
Ere evening comes in peace to thee.”
“My father! shall the joyous throng
Swell high for me the bridal song?
Shall the gay nuptial board be spread,
The festal garland bind my head,
And thou in grief, in peril, roam,