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 skippèd 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. On the pleasant hillside sat they, where the silvery birches grow, And th' eternal sun of midnight bathed them in its fitful glow-- She a maid of eighteen summers, fresh and fair as Norway's spring; Tall and dark-browed he, like pine-woods in whose gloom the Hulders[1] sing, When in silence, Deep-toned silence, Night lets droop her dusky wing. It was now that he must leave her, and the waves and tempest breast: Heavy-hearted sat they, gazing on the Yokul's flaming crest; And she spoke: "O Ragnas, never, while yon airy peak shall gleam O'er our home, shall I forget thee or our childhood's blissful dream, Until silence, Death and silence, Freeze my heart and memory's stream." Up he sprang, and boldly looked he toward the midnight-lighted west, Seized her white, soft hand and pressed it closely to his throbbing breast, And the love his childhood fostered, and in youth made warm his blood, Trembled on his lips as trembles bursting flower in freezing bud: Ah, but silence, Fateful silence, Held the mighty feeling's flood. Years had passed with autumn's splendor, like a glistening shower of gems; Doubly rich the sunlight streamèd from the Yokul's diadems; Once again in joyful rapture he his native vale beheld, For the love long years had fostered whispered still of faith unquelled, Spite of silence, Hapless silence, That the timid tongue had spelled.