In the castle's chapel dimly Was a flickering lamp-light burning, Shining on the altar-picture, Whence the Queen of Heaven looked down With a gracious pitying smile, 'Neath the picture hung fresh gathered Roses and geranium-garlands. Kneeling there prayed Margaretta: "Sorely tried one, full of mercy! Thou who givest us protection, Care for him who badly wounded Lies now on a bed of anguish; And bestow on me forgiveness If thou thinkst it very sinful That he fills my thoughts alone." Hope and trust their light were shedding In her heart as thus she prayed. And more cheerful Margaretta Now ascended up the staircase. On the threshold of the sick-room Was the gray old doctor standing, And he beckoned her to come there. Judging what most likely would be The first question she would ask him, He then said with voice half muffled: "Fear no more, my gracious lady; Fresh young blood and youthful vigour From such wounds not long can suffer, And already gentle slumber, Messenger of health, doth soothe him. He to-day can take an airing." Spoke and left; for, his attention Many wounded men were craving, And he hated useless gossip. Softly entered Margaretta Now the sick-room of young Werner, Bashful and yet curious whether All was true the doctor told her. Gently slumbering lay young Werner, Pale in youthful beauty, looking Like a statue. As if dreaming, He lay holding, o'er his forehead And his healing wound, his right hand, As one who from glaring sunlight Wishes to protect his eyes; Round his lips a smile was playing. Long on him gazed Margaretta-- Long and longer. Thus in old times In the forest of Mount Ida Gazed the goddess, fair Diana, On Endymion the sleeper. Pity held her eye a captive; Ah, and pity is a fruitful Soil for love's sweet plant to grow in. From a tiny seed 'tis spreading In this ground so rich and fertile, Which it permeates completely With its thousand fibrous rootlets.