The Goldsmith's Daughter

A goldsmith stood amid his store
Of pearls and precious stone;
He looked his richest jewels o'er,
And held his darling daughter for
The rarest he did own.

There came a knight in raiment fine,
“Hail, maiden sweet!” he cried;
“Good morrow, worthy goldsmith mine,
A bracelet rare for me design
Wherewith to deck my bride.”

Now, when the precious gift was done
And gleamed its colors warm,
Sad Helen sought her room alone,
And took the band she fain would own
And clasped it on her arm.

“Ah! who might wear this costly thing,
Thrice blessed bride were she!
Oh, if to me he would but bring
Of roses sweet a simple ring,
How happy I should be!”

Soon came the knight the gift to see,
He gazed on it with pride:
“Now, worthy goldsmith, make,” said he,
“A handsome diamond ring for me
Wherewith to deck my bride.”

Now when the brilliant ring was done
And gleams of light let fall,
Sad Helen sought her room alone,
And placed the glittering jewelled zone
Upon her finger small.

“Ah! who might wear this costly ring,
Thrice blessed bride were she!
Oh, if to me he would but bring
One lock of hair—a simple thing—
How happy I should be!”

Soon came the knight the ring to see,
And, greatly pleased, he cried—
“Thou hast, oh worthy smith, for me
Well made the costly jewelry
Wherewith to deck my bride.”

“But yet to prove it clearly so,
Come here, sweet maid, to me,
And let me seek by thee to know
How well my darling's gifts will show,
She is as fair as thee.”

'Twas on a Sunday morning fair,
And Helen, lovely maid,
Had dressed herself with studious care,
That to the church she might repair,
In all her best arrayed.

While blushes o'er her sweet face flew,
Before the knight she stands;
The bracelet on her wrist he threw,
The ring upon her finger drew,
Then seized her trembling hands:

“Oh, Helen sweet! Oh, Helen dear,
The jest its course has spent;
My bride, all beautiful, is here,
For thee the golden bracelet, dear,
For thee the ring were meant.

“Mid gold and pearls and precious stones
Thou didst to woman grow;
Be it to thee a token fair,
To higher honors yet prepare
With me, my love, to go.”
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Author of original: 
Ludwig Uhland
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