Classic Poem

On, on towards Our Lady's shrine
The faithful Walter rode;
Before it kneeled a youthful maid,
Bowed down by sorrow's load.
" Oh stay, my Walter! Stay, mine own!
Know'st thou no more my voice's tone,
Which once thou heardst so gladly?

" Whom see I here? the maid untrue
That once, alas! was mine?
Where hast thou left thy silken robes,
Thy gold, thy jewels fine? "
" Alas! that e'er I proved forsworn,
From me my Paradise is torn,
Thou only canst restore it! "

Then up he took the lovely maid,
With ruth his heart was wrung;
Her clinging arms so lithe and white
Around his waist she flung.
" Ah, Walter true! my throbbing breast
Against thy breastplate cold is prest,
It beats not on thine own, love!

To Walter's castle on they rode,
Its courts were still and lone;
His helmet from his head she took,
His beauty all was gone.
" Thy cheeks so pale, thy looks distrest
(O faithful heart!) beseem thee best,
So lovely wert thou never! "

The contrite maid the armour loosed
From him who mourned her pride;
" What see I here? a garb of black!
Who, loved by thee, hath died? "
" For her I loved I sorrow sore,
Whom on this earth I nevermore
Nor after death recover. "

Then, sinking at his feet, she knelt
With arms outstretched in prayer;
" Lo! here — a sinner vile — I lie,
And crave thy pitying care!
O lift me up, my bliss renew,
Let me upon thy bosom true
Be healed of every sorrow!

" Arise — poor suffering child — arise,
I ne'er can thee upraise;
Henceforth mine arms to thee are closed,
My breast no life conveys.
Like me — for ever make thy moan;
Sweet love has flown, sweet love has flown,
And back returneth never! "