“Like a statue the maiden stands mildly, “At her feet the faithful knight lies; “The forest giant comes wildly, “The sorrowing maiden soon flies. “Soon the knight on the ground lies all gory, “The giant goes home at his ease--” And when I am buried, the story Is ended as soon as you please. 52. They often have vex’d me sadly And worried me early and late; While some with their love have annoy’d me, The others pursued me with hate. My bread they have utterly poison’d, And poison’d my cup too of late; While some with their love have annoy’d me, The others pursued me with hate. But she who more than all others Has vex’d me, and worried, and chafed, She only with hate ne’er pursued me, She only her love ne’er vouchsafed. 53. There lies the glow of summer Upon thy cheek confess’d, And in thine heart cold winter Has made its place of rest. All this will soon be alter’d, My dearest love and best, The winter on thy cheek be, The summer in thy breast! 54. When two fond lovers are parted, They give each other the hand, To weep and to sigh beginning, And losing all self-command. But not one single tear wept we, No Ah! or Alas! did we sigh; Our tears and our sighs both together Too surely came by-and-by. 55. They sat round the tea-table drinking And speaking of love a great deal; The men of æsthetics were thinking, The ladies more prone were to feel. “All love ought to be but platonical” The wither’d old counsellor said; His wife by a smile quite ironical Rejoin’d, and then sighed “Ah!” instead. Said the canon with visage dejected: “Love ne’er should be suffered to go “Too far, or the health is affected;” The maiden then simper’d: “How so?” The Countess her sad feelings vented, Said “Love is a passion, I’m sure,” And then to the Baron presented His cup with politeness demure. A place was still empty at table; My darling, ’twas thou wert away; Thou hadst been so especially able The tale of thy love, sweet, to say. 56. My songs with poison are tainted, But how could it otherwise be? My blossoming life thou hast poison’d, And made it hateful to me. My songs with poison are tainted, But how could it otherwise be? In my heart many serpents I carry, And thee too, my dearest love, thee. 57. I dreamt once more the vision of yore: The time was a fair May even, We sat ’neath the linden, and there we swore To be faithful, in presence of heaven. And once and again we plighted our troth, And titter’d, caress’d, kiss’d so dearly; And lest I should fail to remember my oath, My hand thou then bittest severely.