Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/181

Rh When in lonely cell I weep and languish, Think, oh, think of me in her embrace! I think but of thee— Pining drearily, Soon beneath the earth to hide my face!"

"Nay! I swear by yonder flame which burneth, Fanned by Hymen, lost thou shalt not be; Droop not thus, for my sweet bride returneth To my father's mansion back with me! Dearest, tarry here! Taste the bridal cheer, For our spousal spread so wondrously!"

Then with word and sigh their troth they plighted, Golden was the chain she bade him wear, But the cup he offered her she slighted, Silver, wrought with cunning past compare. "That is not for me; All I ask of thee Is one little ringlet of thy hair!"

Dully boomed the midnight hour unhallowed, And then first her eyes began to shine; Eagerly with pallid lips she swallowed Hasty draughts of purple-tinctured wine; But the wheaten bread, As in shuddering dread, Put she always by with loathing sign.

And she gave the youth the cup: he drained it, With impetuous haste he drained it dry;