"Knight, with sister's love for brother,
Dear to me thou art:
Take this love, and ask no other,
For it grieves my heart:
Calmly coming, calmly going,
Welcome shouldst thou be,
But these tears, in silence flowing,
These are strange to me."

To his bosom, dumbly aching,
Wild the maid he wrings,
Then away in anguish breaking
On his charger springs;
From their mountains, where they tarry,
Calls his Switzers brave;
On their breast the Cross they carry
To the Holy Grave.

Wondrous deeds that host undaunted
Have in fight performed,
Every helmet's plume has flaunted
Where the foemen swarmed;
Toggenburg, that name victorious,
Frights the Moslem train,
But his heart, 'mid triumphs glorious,
Is not healed from pain.
He has borne a year of sorrow,
Now can bear no more,
Wins no respite, night or morrow,
Rides from camp to shore;
Sees a ship, with canvas flying,
Joppa's haven leaves,
Home to that dear country hieing
Where her bosom heaves.

Now the pilgrim nears her castle,
Now his knock is heard;
Woe! 'tis opened by a vassal
With the thunder-word--
"She you seek, to God is given,
Veiled before Him bows,
Yestermorn the bride of Heaven
Sealed her marriage vows."

Now his father's castle never
Shall receive its lord,
Faithful steed he leaves for ever,
Helm, and lance, and sword;
From the Toggenburg down-stealing,
Tells to none his name,
'Neath a gown of hair concealing
His majestic frame.
And a little hut he raises
Looking towards the glade
Where the convent darkly gazes
From the linden shade:
Waiting from the morn's first blushing
Till the sunset shone,
Silent hope his features flushing,
Sat he there alone,

Towards the convent gazing, yearning,
Kept for hours his watch,
To his loved one's window turning,
Till she clinked the latch,
Till the face and form entrancing
From the window smiled,
Downward o'er the valley glancing,
Peaceful, angel-mild.

Now rejoicing, healed from sadness,
Down to sleep he lay,
Woke again with quiet gladness
At the dawn of day:
So he sat for many a morrow,
Kept for years his watch,
Waiting mutely, void of sorrow,
Till she clinked the latch,
Till the face and form entrancing
From the window smiled,
Downward o'er the valley glancing,
Peaceful, angel-mild.
So he sat, when morning's brightness
Dead and cold he met,
With a face of placid whiteness,
Towards her window set.