When I saw you for the last time,
My lips spoke not a word,
No tear fell from my eye,
I went away silently.

I did not turn around
To look back at you one last time;
The broad road lies before me,
I must walk it in solitude.

Upon no friend's bosom 
Do I weep my tears of pain;
I entered through the gateway alone,
Alone I must go out again.

The forest no longer grows green for me,
The water-spring remains mute for me,
The nightingale sends its call after me,
I do not turn around.

[ ... ]

Your path is there, mine is here;
Once they almost crossed.
Go ever on, so lightly and freely!
Forget your sombre guest! 

If I see you someday after many a year,
My lips shall speak no word,
No tear shall fall from my eye,
I shall go away silently.

Oh, only sough so gently and softly,
  You shady oak tree,
So that you do not wake
  The poor orphan girl from her dream!

Her parents have gone to sleep 
  In the last little chamber;
With the mute longing of love,
  She is alone upon earth.

From out of the realm of the dead
  Her old father appears;
Her dream transforms the oak
  Into his dear figure.

  The branches are changed into
  His arms, they caress the child;
Like words of love is the rustling
  Of the green leaves in the wind.

Still asleep, she answers him:
  "Ah, please make Heinrich fond of me,
Or else take me away to the land of the dead,
  Because my heart aches so terribly!”

What is rustling there? walk more quietly,
  Otherwise her slumber shall be disturbed.
Heinrich is creeping over the twigs;
  He likely heard everything?

Carefully he bends down over
  His precious find
And upon her eyelids, he gently 
  Presses his fervent lips.

"[Oh]1 Heinrich!" -- Rustle, oak!
  They fall silent from sheer bliss:
For when the heavenly realm is open
  Then the [words in one's bosom dry up.]2

As an orphan you entered our house,
[But] you are not to go forth from it as an orphan,
You are not to go hence without a gift,
So that people see that women know you.

Take, therefore, the ruff and the golden cord,
And accept it solely for the sake of my will:
If the maidens in distant parts see it, they shall surely declare it fine,
And [shall] think that it might be from your sister.

Thus the lad took his loving departure from the house,
And then wandered off to foreign parts.
The old man accompanied him to the gate,
She gazed after him, until he was lost from sight.

After that three lads came walking by,
The maiden spoke thus to the wanderers:
Walk quickly, then you can still catch up with another [wanderer],
He shall be a dear comrade to you.

He is wearing a golden cord upon his breast,
[And upon]1 a fine ruff rests his head -- a joy to see,
And if you meet him, greet him from me.
The three lads promised her that they would do so.

And after a year the three lads again
Came by at eventide,
The maiden was standing in front of her door,
She asked: Did you greet him from me?

And is he still wearing the golden cord,
And tell me, if many good things have happened to him.
Then they said: brigands set upon him
Because he seemed to be the finest of us all.

And he gladly offered everything to the brigands,
Except for one thing, and for that he was killed:
That was a delicate golden cord,
That must have been from his best beloved.

Thereupon the maiden wept, ah, many years:
Oh why did I not cut off my hair
And with my hair braid a cord for him,
Then the murderers would have let him go.

But that would have betrayed my heart too loudly,
Ah, I was only able to adorn my dear one,
And the lovely adornment that I offered him
Thus brought death to my beloved.

Recently, when in the early morning
  I came back from the water-spring
  And heard the whinnying of the 
  Brown horse coming from the stable, 

I set my shiny pail down
  Before the door.
  In [the stable] I found my Selmas,
  But his eyes were wet.

"Speak, why are you crying, dear lad?
  Handsome rider, tell me why!
  I shall never, nevermore
  Turn my love away from you!"

"Maiden, you are like the lily
  That grows in a public garden,
  Which everyone who takes the notion
  Ruthlessly goes to pick. 

Ah, they have slandered you
  And said: At the dance
  She gave away her ring; in the tavern
  She even lost her wreath!"

"See the hand that now caresses you,
  Does not your ring sparkle on my finger?
  Ask, if in my mother's chamber
  My wreath is not hanging, safely kept.

For water in the pure spring
  Ever remains pure:
  Shall not love ever remain 
  Faithful in a faithful heart?"