Then silence fell upon them, And the distant boatman’s song Returned in softened echoes The gleaming waves along; And through the latticed windows The hush of evening stole, And the solemn spell of silence Fast fettered soul to soul. Dream on, O happy-hearted! The future holds no truth, No amaranthine jewel, Like the rainbow tints of youth. Dream on, O happy-hearted! The hour will soon be gone, And darkness fall too swiftly. Dream on, young hearts, dream on! * * * * * This is the proudest hour Of all the golden twelve, That seek the mystic caverns Where gray gnomes dig and delve. “The beauty of the morning Is but the birth of day, And the glory of the noontide Doth pass as soon away. “But twilight holds the fulness, The meed of every one, And drops the radiant circlet Before her god, the sun. “This is the proudest hour Of all the golden twelve-- Now combs the Nix her tresses, Now rests his spade the elve. “And I drink to the proudest maiden That treads this German-land; No other love shall my heart own, No other queen my hand. “And I’ll pledge her three times over, This haughty queen of mine, In the brightest flowing nectar That ever kissed the Rhine.” Thus spake the bold Count Otto, And held his goblet up, And three times overflowing Each student drained his cup. “This is the fairest hour, For the sunset clouds unfold To the purple sea of twilight Their red-tipped sails of gold. “And the hecatombs of sweetness That all the day have risen In the bosom of the flowers Unbar their shining prison. “This is the fairest hour, The hour of eventide, And I drink to the fairest maiden That dwells the Rhine beside. “And I pledge her three times over, Though her only dower should be The heaven-born gift of beauty, And a faithful love for me.” Thus spake Adelbert, smiling, And held his goblet up, And three times overflowing Each student drained his cup. Then paused the twain in wond’ring, What Ludwig’s toast might be; For their comrade sat in silence, And never word spake he. “How now? Why thus, brave Ludwig, Sitt’st thou in pensive mood? Dost choose to dwell unmated, In loveless solitude?” He smiled, and then looked downward As he answered, glass in hand, “Nay, nay; but, if I pledge her, Ye will not understand.” “Where dwells she, then?” cried Otto, “This peerless love of thine? Mayhap some fabled Lurline That sings beneath the Rhine? “Thou’rt smiling--haste, then, pledge her!” And the brimming glasses rung As Ludwig dropped the music That trembled on his tongue.