Give me the man that on will go,

Not to be swayed or shaken from his level!

And yet at other times you show

A tolerable spice, too, of the devil.
Go to! The devil that despairs I deem
Of all poor creatures poor in the extreme.

Margaret (at her spinning-wheel alone).

My peace is gone, My heart is sore,
'Tis gone forever And evermore.
Where he is not Is the grave to me;
The whole world's changed, Ah, bitterly!
I sit and I ponder One only thought;
My senses wander, My brain's distraught.
My peace is gone, My heart is sore;
'Tis gone forever And evermore.

From my window to greet him I gaze all day;

I stir out, if meet him I only may.

His noble form, His bearing high,

His mouth's sweet smile, His mastering eye;
And the magic flow Of his talk; the bliss
In the clasp of his hand; And oh, his kiss!
My peace is gone, My heart is sore;
'Tis gone forever And evermore.

For him doth my bosom Cry out and pine;
Oh, if I might clasp him And keep him mine!
And kiss him, kiss him, As fain would I;
I'd faint on his kisses-Yes, faint and die!

-Translated by A. SWANWICK.