The day draws near in which the Gnome
Like fiend abhor’d, my veil conveyed
Beneath the Earth to his dire home,
And left me a deluded maid.
But I’ll beseech some friendly squire
To secure me from fate so dread
Transplant the Gnome from Earth to fire
And mix his ashes with the dead.
Shall I beseech & sue in vain?
Shall I be left his mate to be?
Nor find one kind, one pitying swain?
Forbid it love and gallantry!
See from among the chosen few
One knight steps forth the task to dare
Nor shall that youth hereafter rue
Such deed performed for maiden fair.
When I possess the magic ring
By this said valorous mortal given
I’ll forfeit veil, or gown, or coat,
Nor value finery a groat
But think my lot is heaven.