Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/145

 The night advanced, the moon came forth,
 * Upon his bed he watched her.

He thought upon the lovely nymph,
 * He longed to go and see her.

The moon rose high its silvery sheen,
 * Danced in the forest’s gloom;

And every dark twig beckoned now,
 * And called him to his doom.

The youth sat up he quickly thought—
 * Too quickly then arose,

With hasty care he clothed himself
 * With his best Sunday clothes.

He smoothed his coat, then slipped behind
 * The cottage, walking quickly.

He reached the rock, with fir trees dark,
 * That looked down wickedly.

Upon a rock, beneath a fir,
 * The forest nymph is singing.

The youth came quickly to her side,
 * In her blue eyes he’s gazing.

Oh, those blue eyes, so soft and fair
 * Entice the poor boy’s passion;

His heart throbs with his new-born love,
 * In an unwonted fashion.

Before she ended all was lost—
 * He clasped her in his arms;

The forest trees looked darkly down,
 * The moon shone with her charms.

They kissed each other many times,
 * And then the nymph said slowly,

Promise me, youth, no other lips
 * You’ll kiss, however holy?”

He promised—and went home at last,
 * But sleep had fled away.

The moon grew pale, his mother rose,
 * He too, rose up that day.