1.

'So I must wed'.  He thus concludes his tale

And waits response, as if I now could speak.

If words were tried, then deathly heart-rent wail

Were all my eloquence, tears all my speech.

Since none of these a soldier does befit

Nor else a desperate flight from what I fear,

Since none of these, I say, for me are fit,

I stand in place, speak not, and shed no tear.

He takes my silence for begrudged accord

And swears that he shall love me none the less.

My heart near scorns to beat, then stings the more;

I wish that I might tear it from my chest.

      By silent staying, sealed my fate have I,

      But beg or flee I'll not, and cannot cry.

2.

My Velebor, when did you grow so cruel,

That orders into love could make foray?

And would you set me now in mortal duel

Against my heart? Then let the war hounds bray.

When I the colours of my love advanced

In face of death, a Princely prize I gained.

But now, by fair and deadly love entranced,

To coward looker-on you'd have me changed?

You give your orders: stand and guard the door

The night your new-wed wife must with you lie.

My willpow'r gone, I cry, I beg, my Velebor!

Command instead to have me leave, or die!

      Your will unchanged, a guard may not rebel,

      So take my hand, I'll lead our way to hell.

3.

'Go then.' His words, with bitter anguish spat,

Pierce my already barely living heart.

'Throw down the ring.  Our true love token that

I gave you I can take again, depart.'

A vicious spite it then did seem to me,

To force a choice to stay tonight, or leave

His side forever, yet it cannot be

That I would ever cause my Prince to grieve.

His wish to have me near I understand,

For just such comfort have I drawn from him

In times of mis'ry, yet how can I stand

To stay tonight when once the lights bedim?

      But I'll my sorrows, and my love's ring, bear;

      And guard, the night my Prince begets his heir.

4.

The lady fair I cannot choose but hate,

Though low position, duty and respect

Command that spiteful thoughts I must abate.

Oh speak no word, but let me hate her yet.

They say, who know, 'she does no harm to you'

As if a wound were judged by how it bleeds.

Look you who know, her presence runs me through

Both heart and soul, she no more arming needs.

'Tis cruel' they say 'to blame the lady thus

Since no more choice had she than Velebor.'

'Tis cruel' say I 'to all my woes discuss

as talk of She and He, but I no more.'

      Before she came, my love was only mine,

      But now a wife he has, and what am I?