Bedewed in the valley,
Whilst tears fell in pearly showers.

With air unaffected and winning,
To cover them, of her own spinning
      Her apron of blue,
      Though handsome and new,
She gave, and led them to her cottage.

All peace, my dear maiden, be thine:
Your manners and looks are divine;
      On earth you shall rest,
      In heaven be blest,
And shine like an angel for ever.

More blest than the king on the throne
Is he who shall call you his own!
      The ruby, with you
      Compared, fades to blue—
Its price is but dust on the balance. {233a}

Religion makes beauty enchanting,
And even where beauty is wanting,
      The temper and mind,
      Religion-refined,
Will shine through the veil with sweet lustre.