What more? 'Twas Rupert's fate to wed the maiden:
The weary wanderer, from his trouble free,
Bore her, upon his manly breast love-laden,
To pass their honeymoon beside the sea.
O sweet young girl, fit raiment white arrayed in!
O mystic hours of love! Untouched by me
Those days delicious of the early bridal,
Too delicate for song or sweetest idyl.