Memoir and remains of the Rev. James D. Burns :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dim were the gray-hair'd minstrel's eyes,
His harp was sobbing to the chime
Of sadly mingling memories,
A tale of ancient time.
The rosebud on its stalk may die,
Though not unwater'd by the dew,
All that on earth delights the eye
May fade as quickly too.

The bells rang for the bridal night
From all the towers of Königstein,
The lattice lamps were lit and bright,
They twinkled on the Rhine.
Guests fill'd the old baronial hall,
And loud the shouts of wassail rung,
The minstrels all the festival
Unto their citterns sung.

The old king, with a heart elate,
Call'd for a cup to pledge the bride,
And glanced with fondness where she sate,
With Siegmund by her side.
Up sprung the guests through all the hall,
And loud the shouts of wassail rung,
And clear above the festival
The minstrels play'd and sung.

She rose, and to the bridal room
She pass'd amidst her maidens four;
She enter'd in her maiden bloom,
But forth came never more!
The rosebud on its stalk hath died,
Though not unwater'd by the dew,—
And she, the prince and people's pride,
Hath faded where she grew!