Hard is my lot when youth is mine,
And joy should crown each rosy hour,
Within these gloomy walls to pine,
Still fettered by a tyrant's power.
Ye who pity maids like me,
This way bend and set me free!

Must I for ever languish here,
A life of solitude to prove?
No; something whispers in my ear
That I was born for bliss and love.
Ye who pity maids like me,
This way bend and set me free!