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And art thou him?—exclaim'd the maid,
and dost thou live?—she cried:
Too cruel love!—she faintly said—
then wrung his hand, and died.
Stay, cried the knight, all woe begone,
now, stay, my love, for me;
Stay, till I've deckt our bridal bed,
and I will follow thee.
In vain the priest, with holy lore,
by turns did soothe and chide;
The knight, distracted, wept full sore,
and on the green turf died.
And underneath (may heaven them save!)
the lovers both were laid,
And thus in truth, the green turf grave
became their bridal bed.
FINIS.
