Young women are bleaching linen; They leap in the grass anear. The mill-wheel rains showers of diamonds, Its far away buzz I hear. Above on the gray old tower Stands the sentry house of the town, And a scarlet-coated fellow Goes pacing up and down. He toys with his shining musket That gleams in the sunset red, Presenting and shouldering arms now-- I wish he would shoot me dead. IV. In tears through the woods I wander. The thrush is perched on the bough: She springs and sings up yonder-- "Oh, why so sad art thou?" The swallows, thy sisters, are able My dear, to answer thee. They built clever nests in the gable, Where sweetheart's windows be. V. The night is wet and stormy, And void of stars the sky; 'Neath the rustling trees of the forest I wander silently. There flickers a lonely candle In the huntsman's lodge to-night. It shall not tempt me thither; It burns with a sullen light. There sits the blind old granny, In the leathern arm-chair tall, Like a statue, stiff, uncanny And speaketh not at all. And to and fro strides, cursing, The ranger's red haired son, With angry, scornful laughter Flings to the wall his gun. The beautiful spinner weepeth, And moistens with tears her thread. At her feet her father's pointer, Whimpering, crouches his head. VI. When I met by chance in my travels All my sweetheart's family, Papa, mamma, little sister Most cordially greeted me. About my health they inquired; Nor even did they fail To say I was nowise altered, Only a trifle pale. I asked after aunts and cousins, And many a dull old bore. And after the dear little poodle, That barked so softly of yore. And how was my married sweetheart? I asked them soon. They smiled, And in friendliest tone made answer She was soon to have a child. And I lisped congratulations, And begged, when they should see, To give her the kindest greetings, A thousand times for me. Burst forth the baby-sister, "That dear little dog of mine Went mad when he grew bigger, And we drowned him in the Rhine." The child resembles my sweetheart, The same old laugh has she; Her eyes are the same ones over, That wrought such grief for me. VII. We sat in the fisher's cabin, Looking out upon the sea. Then came the mists of evening, Ascending silently. The lights began in the lighthouse One after one to burn, And on the far horizon A ship we could still discern. We spake of storm and shipwreck, The sailor and how he thrives, And how betwixt heaven and ocean, And joy and sorrow he strives. We spake of distant countries, South, North, and everywhere, And of the curious people, And curious customs there;