youth,
"Away with grief, your sorrow soothe,
"Since William proves untrue."

"Mother, all hope has fled my mind,
"The past, is past, our God's unkind;
"Why did he give me breath?
"Oh that this hated loathsome light
"Would fade for ever from my sight,
"Come, death, come, welcome death!"

"Indulgent Father, spare my child,
"Her agony hath made her wild,
"She knows not what she does.
"Daughter, forget thy earthly love,
"Look up to him who reigns above,
"Where joys succeed to woes."

"Mother what now are joys to me?
"With William, Hell a Heaven could be,
"Without him, Heaven a Hell.
"Fade, fade away, thou hated light,
"Death bear me hence to endless night,
"With love all hope farewell."

Thus rashly, Leonora strove
To doubt the truth of heavenly love.
She wept, and beat her breast;
She pray'd for death, until the moon
With all the stars with silence shone,
And sooth'd the world to rest.

When, hark! without, what sudden sound!
She hears a trampling o'er the ground,
Some horseman must be near!
He stops, he rings, Hark! as the noise
Dies soft away, a well-known voice
Thus greets her list'ning ear.

"Wake, Leonora;--dost thou sleep,
"Or thoughtless laugh, or constant weep,
"Is William welcome home?"
"Dear William, you!--return'd, and well!
"I've wak'd and wept--but why, ah! tell,
"So late--at night you come?"

"At midnight only dare we roam,
"For thee from Prague, though late, I come."
"For me!--stay here and rest;
"The wild winds whistle o'er the waste,
"Ah, dear William! why such haste?
"First warm thee in my breast."

"Let the winds whistle o'er the waste,
"My duty bids me be in haste;
"Quick, mount upon my steed:
"Let the winds whistle far and wide,
"Ere morn, two hundred leagues we'll ride,
"To reach our marriage bed."

"What, William! for a bridal room,
"Travel to night so far from home?"
"Leonora, 'tis decreed.
"Look round thee, love, the moon shines clear,
"The dead ride swiftly; never fear,
"We'll reach our marriage bed."

"Ah, William! whither would'st thou speed,
"What! where! this distant marriage bed?"
"Leonora, no delay.
"'Tis far from hence; still--cold--and small:
"Six planks, no more, compose it al