Hitherto my heart had belonged to my native land, now it is yours, Leonore.

The poor adventurer, who, under manifold forms, in manifold disguises, under many names, had wandered through the world, always in the service of his native land and vengeance, has now found a home at your feet, and it sometimes happens that he forgets grief for his country in the joy of his love.

And yet, Leonore, yet there are bitter, sorrowful hours, in which I execrate my love itself; in which I feel that I will rend it from my heart; that I must escape from it into the hate which hitherto has guided and fixed my whole existence." "If you feel and think thus, you do not love me," she said mournfully.
"Yes, I love you, Leonore; love you with rapture, with anguish, with despair, with joy.

Yet I ask myself what will be the goal and end of this love?
I ask myself when this sun, which has shone upon me through one beautiful, splendid day, will set ?" "It will never set, unless by your desire," she cried, putting her arms around his neck and bending to imprint a kiss upon his brow.
"It will set, for I am not created to live in sunshine and enjoy happiness.
My life belongs to my native land! I have sworn to consecrate it to my country, and I must keep my oath.

I dare not give myself up to love until I have done enough for hate; I dare not enjoy happiness ere I have fulfilled vengeance." "Vengeance, my dearest?
On whom do you wish to take vengeance ?" "On him who stole my native land; who deluded us for years with false hopes, with lying promises; who promised us liberty and in return gave us bondage.