While the wind plays with her snow-white gown.
Now she stares in the distance dim—
Then, brushing off a shining tear,
She shades her eyes, as if to peer
Into the far-off hazy brown,
Where toward the lake the mountains lean,
The waves reflect the sparkling sheen,
And playful stars each other drown.
Just as a snow-white dove appears
When flying 'neath a sunless cloud,
Or as a water-lily proud
The bluish surface domineers;
Thusyonder where the mountains meet—
Over the waters something fleet
Approaches fast . . . A moment bright,
Then as a stork in a slow flight looms,
No longer a dove or the lilies' blooms,
Now a white sail rocks in the breeze.
A slender oar appears to tease
The churning waters, forming rings.
Each foaming ring an oar enslaves
While borne from skies on gilded wings,
Roses of gold ride on the waves.
"A rapid boat . . . it's near, it's near!
It's he; his plumage, flowers, cloak!"
The boat is fastened at the pier
And up the winding mountain lane
A sailor lightly guides his pace.
Flushed, crimson now the maiden's face.
16
