Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/327

Rh Who catches dimly through his straining sight The misty vision of an impious rite? Who hears from one a cry that rends his heart, And feels that loving arms are torn apart, And by his mandate fiercely thrust aside? Who is this one who crouches where she died, With face laid earthwvard as her face was laid, And prays for her as she for him once prayed?

'Tis Jacob Eibsen, Jacob Eibsen's son. Whose occult life and mystic rule are done. And passed away the memory from his brain. 'Tis Jacob Eibsen, who has come again To roam the woods, and see the mournful gleams That flash and linger of his old-time dreams.

The morning found him where he sank to rest Within the mystic circle: on his breast With withered hands, as to the dearest place, He held and pressed the empty carven case.

That day he sought the dwellings of his folk; And when he found them, once again there broke