Not for salvation, or battle-eve benison,
Not with thanksgiving, or even repentancy.
Not for my own sad soul lost in the wilderness,
Soul of a pilgrim here wandering homelessly;
But for a maiden pure, whom I would trust to thee,
Fervid Protectress from cold inhumanity!
Circle with Fortune this maiden deserving it;
Grant her considerate friends on life’s pilgrimage,
Youth of bright buoyancy, age of reposefulness;
Grant to her sinless soul Hope’s happy peacefulness.