Knight Toggenburg (Murray)

"Sir Knight! true sister-love

This heart devotes to thee:

No fonder seek to prove,

For oh! it paineth me.

Calmly I see thee near,

Calmly I see thee go:

But why that silent tear

Is wept, I may not know."

By dumb despair oppresse'd

The warrior's heart was wrung—

He strained her to his breast,

Then on his charger sprung;

And summoned vassals brave

Forth from the Switzer's land,

And sought the Holy Grave

With red-cross pilgrim-band.

There deeds of daring might

Were wrought by heroes' arms—

Their helmet-plumes waved bright

Amid the Paynim-swarms:

And Toggenburg's dread name

Struck terror to the foe,

But still no solace came

To soothe his lonely woe.

One year he now hath pined—

Why longer should he stay?

Repose he cannot find

Amid the host's array.

A bark from Joppa's strand

Sailed gentle gales beneath:

He seeks the hallowed land

Where floats her balmy breath.

And soon a pilgrim wan

Knocks at her castle-gate,

And hears", oh! lonely man!

The thunder-word of fate:

"The maid thou seekest now

Is Heaven's unspotted bride,

By yester-morning's vow

To God himself allied."

'Tis past! He quits for aye

His old ancestral home;

His arms with rust decay,

His steeds at pleasure roam.

Down from his natal crags,

Unknown to all, he hies:

A hermit's sackcloth rags

His noble limbs disguise.

He rears a lowly hut

Near scenes endeared by love,

Where frowns her convent shut

'Mid shade of linden-grove:

And in that lonesome place

He sate from dawn of day,

With hope upon his face,

Till evening's latest ray;

Watching with earnest hope

The convent-walls above

To mark a lattice ope,

The lattice of his love:

To see but once her face,

So meek and angel-mild,

Low bending down to gaze

Upon the valley wild.

And then he sought repose,

Consoled by visions bright,

Nor thought upon his woes

At sweet return of light.

And thus he sate—alone—

Long dream-like days and years,

Waiting, without a moan,

Until the maid appears:

Waiting to see her face,

So meek and angel-mild,

Low bending down to gaze

Upon the valley wild.

And so he sate in death

One summer morning, there,

Still watching from beneath

With fond, calm, wistful stare!