Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/165

 Who kisses my forehead? Whose tears on my cheek?” The dew of evening, or perhaps the moon freak.”

No, ’tis my dead bride! See in the midnight cold, Her dress in the moonlight shines fold upon fold.

She waves me a farewell, adieu seems to say, Then beckons me onward to follow her way.

I follow! By power of witchcraft drawn on!” My lover! What madness is this, strange and strong.”

He climbs through the window, and stands on the sill, Keep hold! Now alone God can save if He will!”

The moonlight is drawing him—dizzy the height— Life’s burden has passed from him into the night

Stop lover! One step and death stands in your way!” Where he stood, falls undimmed the moonlight’s ray.

The moonlight shines clear on the river’s white bed, Where he and the spinner united lie dead.