An empty home! oh, word of woe
To one that had been blest:
Who held her child throughout the day
And cradled it to rest!
The beech is growing green again,
The sun shines on the shore;
But, mother, fruitless is thy search,
Thy babe comes back no more!
And when the breath of eve blows cool
And father home returns,
He tries to smile as he smiled of yore,–
But a tear his eyelid burns.
For him his hearth is desolate
And he finds but blank despair;
For he hears the wail of that mother pale
And no child to greet him there!
“Ah, in Heaven’s name,” cried Bertalda through her tears, “tell me, Undine, I pray thee, where are my parents? For surely thou must know; surely thou must have discovered; for else thou wouldst not so have torn my heart! Perchance they are here? Can it be so?” Her eyes glanced quickly over the brilliant company and rested on a lady of high rank who was seated hard by her foster-father.
But Undine turned her towards the door and her eyes shone with tender light. “Where, then,” quoth she, “are the poor parents who have waited so long!” Whereupon, look you, ’twas the old fisherman and eke his wife, who stepped hesitatingly forth from the crowd of spectators! They looked, and there was
