Elegy on Leopold of Austria

They say that summer's come this way
And mirth is here again,
And bid me to be merry as of yore.
Now speak and tell me how I may!
Death such a spoil hath ta'en
That I shall ne'er subdue my sorrow more.
What now can I reck of sport or mirth,
Since Leopold, the lord of all delight, is laid in earth?
Never once I saw him sad.
The world hath lost so much in him
That never yet in one man's death such bitter loss it had.

Poor lady, I! My fortune fair
Was ev'n too great, alas!
To think, how all my bliss on him was set!
Now that I shall not have his care,
In misery must pass
Whatever life remaineth to me yet.
Gone the mirror is of my delight,
Which I had chosen for the summer-tide to glad my sight.
Therein I have no further part
When I was told that he was dead,
Up to my soul the blood rushed suddenly from out my heart.

The death of my dear lord it is
Forbids all joy to me,
And joyless must I be for evermore.
Since now there is no help for this,
I strive with misery,
And with lament and grief my heart is sore.
I weep him, weep him ever, I,
For well he cheered me, noble heart, or e'er he came to die.
What do I here now he is lost?
Have mercy, Lord, upon his soul,
For never worthier guest hath come among Thy heavenly host!