In Asia’s far realm
  Reinald, my beloved, found death.
  There he fell, so red with blood,
  And whispered, dying: “Mathilda!”--
  Forsaken!
  Pale grow
  My cheeks in lonely distress.
 
Yet a martyr’s crown,
  As victorious in the holy battle
  He dedicated his life to Jesus,
  Was given to the faithful one as an eternal meed.
  Parted,
  In peace,
  From every earthly suffering!
 
Recently I wept in the shade of the linden trees,
  Nothing but yearning rose up in my bosom;
  Then the evening wafted up
  From the brown labyrinth of the rocks.
  Through forests
  And fields
  The moon travelled upon its solitary journey.
 
And there was a peculiar soughing in the grove.
  From the bushy heights there comes
  A twilit shadow appeared;
  It tottered about the mossy stones.
  "Mathilda!
  Mathilda!"
  Thus whisper quiet tones.
 
"Mathilda, stop mourning,
  And dry your tears.
  I found a praiseworthy grave
  Before the holy walls of Salem.
  To the ground
  From my horse
  My bleeding corpse sank.
 
The palm trees of Gethsemane
  Shade my silent bones;
  There the warriors buried them,
  And bedewed the corpse with their tears,
  But gently,
  And rewardingly
  God called me into the kingdom of Heaven."
 
At those words there shone from the heavenly distance
  A radiance about the shadowy figure.
  He wandered lightly through the forest,
  Stars encircled his curls. --
  You heavenly powers,
  Through the nights
  Lead me soon to the holy one!