“With all my soul I love thee, youth,
    Yet still my virgin shame
  Struggles against thy rash design,
    And trembles for my fame.”

* * * * *

  “We’ll seek my sister first, and there
    Our wedding shall precede. 
  And then into my castle I
    My noble bride will lead.—­

  Eliza’ let us hasten, come—­
    It is the mid of night,
  The moon will soon conclude her course,
    That shineth now so bright.”

  Now softly by a secret way
    The lady lightly trod. 
  Till she beneath the window—­pale
    As deadly marble, stood.

  Yet soon she felt her heart again,
    And sprung unto her knight,
  Who press’d her speechless to his heart
    That throbb’d with chaste delight.

  Then lifts her gladly on his steed,
    And her before sits he;
  She winds about him her white arms,
    Forth go they, valiantly.

  Now, wakened by the prancing steed. 
    And that true griffin’s neigh,
  The damsel from the window spied
    Her lady borne away.

  She wildly shrieks, and plains to all
    Of her calamity: 
  The old man foams, and cursing, swears
    His niece in shame shall die.

  He summon’d all his people up,
    And ere the day began,
  They left the castle ready armed,
    Led by that wicked man.

  Meanwhile, cheered by the friendly moon,
    Through common, field, and mead,
  Far over hill, and vale, and wood,
    That knightly pair proceed.

  What torrent now with dashing foam
    Roars loud before them so
  “Fear not, my love,” the Stolberg said,
    “This stream full well I know.”

  The gallant roan makes head, his feet
    Approve the flood with care,
  Then dashes, neighing, through, as if
    A tiny brook it were.

  Now come they to the castle wet,
    Yet wrapt in heavenly bliss;
  Let them describe who such have felt,
    The intensity of this.

  Now, sate they at the early meal;
    The cup careered about ... 
  But entering soon—­“Up noble Count! 
    The Mansfield!” cried a scout.

  The bride and sister fearfully
    Their hair in sorrow tore;
  The Count already had to horse,
    And his full armour wore.

  Forth went he out to meet the strife. 
    And called to Mansfield loud,
  “In vain your anger is, for she
    My wife is, wed and vow’d.

  And am I not of noble stem,
    Whose fame is bruited wide,
  Who princes to our nation gave,
    E’en in the heathen tide?”

  With lance in rest, upon him springs
    That uncle bad and old,
  His people follow—­but the knight
    Awaits him calm and bold.

  And draws his sword.  As Mansfield nears,
    His fury stoppage found—­
  He lays about, and cleaves his scull,
    And smites him to the ground.