“I to-day must die,--O suffer, “Suffer me to live till midnight, “That I may with feast and torch-dance “Celebrate my happy wedding! “Let me live, O let me live, sire, “Till I’ve drain’d the final goblet, “Till the final dance is finish’d-- “Suffer me to live till midnight!” To the headsman spake the monarch: “To our son-in-law a respite “Of his life we grant till midnight-- “Keep thy trusty hatchet ready!” II. Sir Olave he sits at his wedding repast, And every goblet is drained at last; Upon his shoulder reclines His wife and pines-- At the door the headsman is standing. The dance begins, and Sir Olave takes hold Of his youthful wife, and with haste uncontroll’d They dance by the torches’ glow Their last dance below-- At the door the headsman is standing. The fiddles strike up, so merry and glad, The flutes they sound so mournful and sad; Whoever their dancing then saw Was filled with awe-- At the door the headsman is standing. And as they dance in the echoing hall, To his wife speaks Sir Olave, unheard by them all: “My love will be ne’er known to thee-- “The grave yawns for me--” At the door the headsman is standing. III. Sir Olave, ’tis the midnight hour, Thy days of life are number’d; In a king’s daughter’s arms instead Thou thoughtest to have slumber’d. The monks they mutter the prayers for the dead, The man the red coat wearing Already before the black block stands, His polish’d hatchet bearing. Sir Olave descends to the court below, Where the swords and the lights are gleaming; The ruddy lips of the Knight they smile, And he speaks with a countenance beaming: “I bless the sun, and I bless the moon, “And the stars in the heavens before me; “I bless too the little birds that sing “In the air so merrily o’er me. “I bless the sea and I bless the land, “And the flow’rs that the meadow’s life are; “I bless the violets, which are as soft “As the eyes of my own dear wife are. “Ye violet eyes of my own dear wife, “My life for your sakes I surrender! “I bless the elder-tree, under whose shade “We plighted our vows of love tender.” 11. THE WATER NYMPHS. The waves were plashing against the lone strand, The moon had risen lately, The knight was lying upon the white sand, In vision musing greatly. The beauteous nymphs arose from the deep, Their veils around them floated; They softly approach’d, and fancied that sleep The youth’s repose denoted. The plume of his helmet the first one felt, To see if perchance it would harm her; The second took hold of his shoulder belt, And handled his heavy chain armour.