Page:Foreign Tales and Traditions (Volume 1).djvu/416

 O fathers! impious were the deed, Should now the votive rite proceed.

“Her love is mine, and God’s pure eyes Reject a stolen sacrifice. Thou, Baron, (and he lowly knelt) Aneal me from my passions crime; My heart too well its weight hath felt In all the suffering of the time, Since that sad hour of woe and guilt,— Be thine the godlike task sublime, To shed around thee happiness, And even the offending one to bless!”

The mother joined the youth’s request, With arts which woman wields the best. The Baron’s heart was not of stone,— What heart that was not could defy The lover’s passionate look and tone, A daughter’s eloquent agony? Lo! at the shrine, where she had gone With wounded soul, and tearful eye, Her soul was healed, her tears were dried, Her love was sealed and sanctified.