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.