Yearning

With sweetheart on arm, all my comrades with joy
Beneath the linden trees move;
But I, alas, poor desolate boy,
In utter solitude rove

Mine eye grows dim, my heart is oppress’d,
When happy lovers I see;
For a sweetheart by me is also possess’d,
But, alas, far distant is she.

I have borne it for years, with a heart fit to break,
But no longer can bear with the pain;
So pack up my bundle, my pilgrim’s staff take,
And start on my travels again.

And onward I go for hundreds of miles,
Till I come to a city renown’d;
A noble river beneath it smiles,
With three stately towers ’tis crown’d.

And now my late sorrows no longer annoy,
Made happy at last is my love;
For there, with my sweetheart on arm, I with joy
Can beneath the sweet linden trees rove.