She left the crowd and wandered on—
Where, oh where is the maiden gone?
She hears no longer the minstrel's lay,
The last sweet notes have died away,
Like the low, faint sound of maiden's sigh.
When the youth that she loves is standing by.
But where, oh where is Ada gone?
She is kneeling in a dungeon lone;
Her fillet of snowy pearls has now