For I wander thro' the night,
When all but me take rest,
And the moon's soft beams fall piteously
Upon my troubled breast.
(A pause.)
Fourth SONG.
Ah, maiden! bear the biting smart,
Nor thus thy loss deplore;
The Thane's daughter has his heart,
He will return no more.
First Lad. 'Tis strangely melancholy.
Dwi. It is like the sad sounds which oftentimes
The midnight watcher, in his lonely tower,
Hears, with the wailing blast most sweetly mingled.
Elb. (to Attendant.) Go thou and lead her hither.
Atten. I will, great queen.—But here she comes unbidden.
(Enter Bertha with a wild unsettled air, and her hair scattered upon her shoulders. The Ladies gather about her with curiosity.)
First Lad. How fair she is!
Sec. Lad. Her eyes of lovely blue.
Gentle but restless. Dost thou see that glance?
(to Sec. Lad.)
I fear to look upon her.
Dwi. Fie, fie, upon it! press not near her thus;
She seems offended: I will speak to her.
(to Berth.) Sweet Lady, art thou sad?
