That she comes to meet me here no more."
Stepped the maiden from her chamber then;
Wet, O! wet with tears her lovely face,
All with sadness dimmed her eyes so clear,
Feebly drooping hung her snowy arms.
'T was no arrow that had pierced her heart,
'T was no adder that had stung her so;
Weeping, thus the lovely maid began:
"Fare thee well, beloved, fare thee well,
Dearest soul, thy father's dearest son!