On the strand they gayly played, where the trembling birch trees grow,
Children both with golden ringlets and with cheeks like maiden snow,
Wherein blushed fresh spring-like roses--blushed and hid, and blushed again,
While they plucked the shining pebbles, smooth-worn by the stormy main;
And in silence,
Rippling silence,
Chants the sea its old refrain.
She, the fair and gladsome maiden, raised her head and called his name:
He was deep-eyed, light and slender, shy of mien and slight of frame.
Like a laughing brook she skipped to and fro along the strand;
He was grave, like nodding fern-leaf, gently by the breezes fanned,
Which in silence,
Pensive silence,
Grows upon the brooklet's sand,
"Ragnas," said she, "when God's angels visit will this world of ours,
They descend, so mother told me, on the Yokul's shining towers.
Now, if I should die, then promise thou wilt climb the peaks of ice,
And my hand I'll reach to help thee up to God's bright paradise."
But in silence,
Wondering silence,
Gazed he in her innocent eyes.
It was summer: thrush and linnet sung their gladsome summer-lay;
Through the fir trees' cooling vista rose the cataract's white spray;
And the light blue smoke of even o'er the darksome forests fell--
Rose and lingered like a lover loath to bid his love farewell;
And in silence,
Wistful silence,
Shed its peace o'er sunlit dell.
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