And his boat shot swiftly onward: well the rowers plied their oar, Till a heavy tolling reached them from the church-tower on the shore; And a solemn train of barges slowly wound their pensive way Through the hushèd waves that glittered o'er their image in the bay; And the silence, Listening silence, Dimmed the splendor of the day. O'er the barge that now drew nearer countless virgin lilies wept, Telling that some white-souled maiden in the snowy bower slept. Dumb he stood, and gazed in terror on the shroud and lilies sweet, And a dread foreboding filled him, and his heart forgot to beat; And in silence, Deathlike silence, Fell he at the boatman's feet. So the parish-people told me; and as years went rolling by Oft they saw him sadly staring on the flaming sunset sky; Watched the purple-stainèd Yokul, half in joy and half in pain, As if hoped he there to see her coming back to earth again; Mourned his silence, Fateful silence, That had rent two lives atwain. Till at length one Sabbath morning--deep-voiced church-bells shook the air-- While in festal garb the church-folk wandered to their house of prayer, Reached their ears a hollow thunder from the glaciers overhead, And huge blocks of ice came crashing downward to the river's bed, And in silence, Wrathful silence, Down the seething stream they sped. Ah, the breathless hush that followed! for amid the icy waste They a human shape discernèd, madly, as by demons chased, Up the crystal ledges climbing, pausing now where ice-walls screen From the blast, then upward springing o'er abyss and dread ravine, Until silence, Glittering silence, Reigned amid the icebergs' sheen. They have searched for him, they told me, sought him far and sought him near: Ne'er a trace was found to tell them of his grave so lone and drear; But the legend goes that angels swift the shining ether clove, And with them his youth's beloved bore him up to God above, Where shall silence, Deepest silence, Never sunder hearts that love. HJALMAR HJARTH BOYESEN. [Footnote 1: The Hulder is the spirit of the forest, and is represented as a virgin of wonderful beauty. She plays her loor, a long birch-bark horn, at evening, and is the protecting genius of the cattle.] THACKERAY'S "GRAY FRIARS."