with affection
Towards the youth who to-day had appeared to my eyes as a savior. 
When he first left me there on the road, he still remained present,
Haunting my every thought; I fancied the fortunate maiden
Whom as a bride, perhaps, his heart had already elected. 
When at the fountain I met him again, the sight of him wakened
Pleasure as great as if there had met me an angel from heaven;
And with what gladness I followed, when asked to come as his servant. 
True, that I flattered myself in my heart,—­I will not deny it,—­
While we were hitherward coming, I might peradventure deserve him,
Should I become at last the important stay of the household. 
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