To the Archduchess Eleonore von Habsburg-Löthringen
Ye sisters, from Parnassus wend your way
To grace this borealic land with song.
Bless thou my ardent though unworthy pen.
For, though the poet blind were eke thy slave
And deeds of Hector matter for his lay
Still ought my purpose fair be better hymned.

Who but a royal maid should be so hymned
Except a Caesar's daughter cross my way?
This wreath that I, made bold by love, do lay
Before her, seems a parody of song
A meagre gift, more fitting for a slave
Than highest lady ever praised by pen.

Soul, all thy store of secrets now un-pen
That wisely be this second Helen hymned.
And get thou art and science for my slave
To lend all beauty in each earthly way
Which makes her, mirrored, shine in my poor song
As, a dark pool, my page before her lay.
When I, my life devoid of ardour, lay
On greensward, while my dust-entrammeled pen
Was still, I knew none but the vainest song.
Yet now, the Virgin with “Ave” I've hymned
And Masses heard, for in her sov'reign way
My queen of love has rev'rence taught her slave.

As freedom's path to Turkish prince's slave
The road before with roses angels lay
Or seem to. Bright it shines, a heavn'ly way;
To source of light, I dare not raise my pen
More glorious she than fleece of Jason hymned
Which now adorns her house far-famed in song.

O Stella Austriae, hearken my song!
Though my steps halt, wherefore I seem a slave
My cause is noble: that thy beauty hymned
May seemly fealty, of poet's pen
Receive. Naught for myself demands this lay
Save thy gaze, second-long, to turn my way.

What little beauty now I lay in song
From loyal slave with Parnassian pen
But makes thee hymned whom all should hymn this way.