By the pale Moon, and in her tender light
Read the love written in each other's eyes,
And call her for a witness. Oh 'tis bliss
To wander thus, arm linked in arm!—a look,
A sigh, a blush, the only answers given
To the so witching tales fond lips are telling.—
One eve they parted even more tenderly
Than they were wont to do; but one day more
And their fate would be linked in a true bond
Of deep affection; henceforth but one life!—
But the next morn he came not, and Elore
Watched down the vale in vain! The evening closed,
And by her fireside there was solitude;
Morn blushed again, and found her still alone,
That promised morning, whose light should have shed
Gladness o'er the sweet bride, but shone on tears,
On loneliness and terror! Days pass'd by,
Olave
It was all mystery and fear. They searched
The valleys and the mountains, but no trace
Was left to tell of either life or death:
He had departed like a shadow. Strange
And drear were now the many tales they told
In his own village: some said the snow-pit
Had been his grave, and some that still he lived;
And wild old histories were now recalled
Of mortals loved by powerful beings, who
Bore them from earth—and Olave was so young,
So beautiful, he might well be beloved
By mountain-spirits. But alas for her,
His widowed Bride! how soon she changed from all
The beauty of her youth—her long gold hair
Lost its bright colour, and her fair blue eyes
Forgot the sunshine of their smile, for never
Her countenance was brightened up again
By the heart's gladsome feelings. So she lived
A solitary thing, to whom the world
Was nothing; and she shunned all intercourse,
Shrunk even from the voice of soothing; all
Her earthly ties were broken, and she could
But brood o'er her great misery. - - -
