Over the wheel I, roaring, bound,
Here meets the eye;The ever-womanly
LOVE is indeed a glorious prize!What fairer guerdon meets our eyes?--Though neither wealth nor power are thine,A very hero thou dost shine.As of the prophet, they will tell,Wamik and Asia's tale as well.--They'll tell not of them,--they'll but giveTheir names, which now are all that live.The deeds they did, the toils they provedNo mortal knows! But that they lovedThis know we. Here's the story trueOf Wamik and of Asia too.
'Mongst so many, dull and blind,
Fall to ashes in my sight?
Who are far from haughty,And whose purses are well-stock'd,
Unproduced, and known to none;If your father cannot do it,
Far nimbler needs must be, in truth.
Robed in splendour far more bright!Though my heart with grief throbs wilder,
The children they hear with affright.