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 He spoke—and they who heard the tone Felt, deeply felt, all hope was flown.

"I've sought thee far in forest bowers, I’ve sought thee long in peopled towers, I've borne the dagger of th' Through scenes explor'd by me alone; My search is clos'd—nor toils, nor fears, Repel the servant of the Seers; We meet—'tis vain to strive or fly, Albert of Lindheim—thou must die!"

Then with clasp'd hands the fair-hair'd maid Sunk at his feet, and wildly pray'd:– "Stay, stay thee! sheath that lifted steel! Oh! thou art human, and canst feel! Hear me! if e'er 'twas thine to prove The blessing of a parent's love; By thine own father's hoary hair, By her who gave thee being, spare! Did they not, o'er thy infant years, Keep watch, in sleepless hopes and fears? Young warrior! thou wilt heed my prayers, As thou wouldst hope for grace to theirs!"

But cold th' Avenger's look remain'd, His brow its rigid calm maintain'd: "Maiden! 'tis vain—my bosom ne'er Was conscious of a parent's care; The nurture of my infant years Froze in my soul the source of tears;