y walking other knights beguile the time,
But the Archkomtur wastes no time in vain.
He quickly summons Halban and the chiefs
Unto himself, and leads them to one side;
That, from the curious crowd afar removed,
They may pursue their counsels and impart
Forewarnings; from the castle go they forth.
They hasten to the plain. Conversing thus,
All heedless of their path, some hours astray
They wandered in the region close beside
The inlets of a tranquil lake. 'Tis morn!
This hour they should regain the capital.
They stop,--a voice,--whence? From the corner tower!
They listen,--'tis the voice of the recluse!
Long time within this tower, ten summers since,
Some unknown pious woman, from afar,5
Who came to Mary's town,--Maybe that Heaven
Inspired her blest design, or with the balm
Of penance she would heal the wounds of conscience,--
Did seek the shelter of a lone recluse,
And here she found while living yet a tomb.

Long time the chaplains would not give consent.
Then, wearied by the constancy of prayers,
They gave her in this tower a shelter lone.
Scarcely the sacred threshold had she crossed,
When o'er the threshold bricks and stones were piled;
The angels only, in the judgment-day
Shall ope the door which parts her from the living.

Above a little window and a grate,
Whereby the pious folk send nourishment,
And Heaven sends breezes and the rays of day.
Poor sinner! was it hatred of the world
Abused thy young heart to so great extreme
That thou dost fear the sun. and heaven's fair face?
Scarcely imprisoned in her living grave,
None saw her, through the window of the tower,
Receive upon her lips the wind's fresh breath,
Nor look upon the heaven in sunshine beauty,
Or the sweet flowerets on the plain of earth,
Or, dearer hundred-fold, her fellow-men.

'Tis only known that still she is in life;
For when betimes a holy pilgrim wanders
Near her retreat by night, a sweet, low sound
Holds him awhile. Certain it is the sound
Of pious hymns. And when the village children
Together in the oak-grove sport at eve,
Then from the window shines a streak of white,
As 'twere a sunbeam from the rising dawn.
Is it an amber ringlet of her hair,
Or lustre of her slender, snowy hand
Blessing those innocent heads? The chivalry
Hear as they pass the corner tower these words:
"Thou art Konrad! Heaven! Fate is now fulfilled!
Thou shalt be Master, that thou mayest destroy them!
Will they not recognise?--Thou hid'st in vain.
Though