In vain I questioned—her reply
A sad reproachfulness of eye,
So firm yet tender in its look,
It ever, sorrowing, seemed to say
“Why torture me!”—I could not brook
Such gaze, but gladly turned away,
Leaving my Ila to her mood
In our old castle’s solitude.
Days rolled away!—And who art thou
With princely step and lofty brow?