Now I, alas! for the first time see what risk I was running,
When I would make my home so near to the secretly loved one;
Now for the first time feel how far removed a poor maiden
Is from an opulent youth, no matter how great her deserving.
All this I now confess, that my heart ye may not misinterpret,
In that ’twas hurt by a chance to which I owe my awaking.
Hiding my secret desires, this dread had been ever before me,
That at some early day he would bring him a bride to his dwelling;
And ah, how could I then my inward anguish have suffered!
Happily I have been warned, and happily now has my bosom
Been of its secret relieved, while yet there is cure for the evil.
But no more; I have spoken; and now shall nothing detain me
Longer here in a house where I stay but in shame and confusion,
Freely confessing my love and that foolish hope that I cherished.
Not the night which abroad is covered with lowering storm clouds;
Not the roll of the thunder—I hear its peal—shall deter me;
Not the pelt of the rain which without is beating in fury;
Neither the blustering tempest; for all these things have I suffered
During our sorrowful flight, and while the near foe was pursuing.
Now I again go forth, as I have so long been accustomed,
Carried away by the whirl of the times, and from every thing parted.
Fare ye well! I tarry no longer; all now is over.”
Thus she spoke and back to the door she hastily turned
her,
Still bearing under her arm, as she with her had brought
it, her bundle.
But with both of her arms the mother seized hold of
the maiden,
Clasping her round the waist, and exclaiming, amazed
and bewildered:
“Tell me, what means all this? and these idle
tears, say, what mean they?
I will not let thee depart: thou art the betrothed
of my Hermann.”
But still the father stood, observing the scene with
displeasure,
Looked on the weeping girl, and said in a tone of
vexation:
“This then must be the return that I get for
all my indulgence,
That at the close of the day this most irksome of
all things should happen!
For there is naught I can tolerate less than womanish
weeping,
Violent outcries, which only involve in disorder and
passion,
What with a little of sense had been more smoothly
adjusted.
Settle the thing for yourselves: I’m going
to bed; I’ve no patience
Longer to be a spectator of these your marvelous doings.”
Quickly he turned as he spoke, and hastened to go
to the chamber
Where he was wonted to rest, and his marriage bed
was kept standing,
But he was held by his son, who said in a tone of
entreaty:
“Father, hasten not from us, and be thou not
wroth with the maiden.
I, only I, am to blame as the cause of all this confusion,
Which by his dissimulation our friend unexpectedly
heightened.
Speak, O worthy sir; for to thee my cause I intrusted.
Heap not up sorrow and anger, but rather let all this
be ended;
For I could hold thee never again in such high estimation,
If thou shouldst show but delight in pain, not superior
wisdom.”