With joy I feel that from above

Weird spirits to these lips are bann'd,

O, that the magic tie of love

Were also knitted to my hand!

But none regard the pilgrim lone,

Who needy came from distant isles;

What heart will pity yet his own,

And quench his grief in winning smiles?

The lofty grass is waving, where

He sinks with tearful cheeks to rest;