Skittish foal, I prithee why, Flashing fear from thy large eye, Cruel, dost thou mocking flee? "Fool! he nothing is to me." Know for thee I soon shall bring And about thy proud neck fling The bridle, and with firm, tight rein, Swift-racing, spur thee o'er the plain. Tarry now 'mid pasture-ground, Gayly frolic, lightly bound; But, my skittish foal, take heed! Thy right rider comes with speed. The right rider! Alas! ere six weeks had passed, the right rider came! It was a dark evening late in Autumn, like the present one. Men, women, boys and girls were all out of doors, for it was Saturday night, and the great wheat-field must if possible be mowed, the sheaves bound up and piled in heaps. They had paused to rest for half an hour, while waiting for the rising moon to disperse the dense clouds of mist and enable them to resume their interrupted task. Curt and he had busily helped the laborers, and even Cecilia tied up a few sheaves; then they carried the people the beer Cousin Boslaf had drawn from the huge cask. There had been shouting, singing, and jesting among the youths and maidens, but all had now become silent, and Herr Wenhof thought if they did not begin again soon the whole company would fall asleep, and then he should like to see the person who could get them on their feet again. But Cousin Boslaf said they must wait ten minutes longer until the moon shone clear, and Cousin Boslaf knew best. It grew more and more quiet, so quiet that the partridges thought every one had gone, and began to call loudly for their scattered families; so quiet that Gotthold fancied he could hear the beating of his own heart, as his eyes rested on the graceful figure that sat close beside him on a sheaf, so near that his hand might have touched her light dress, gazing up at the moon, whose white light made her face look strangely pale. But the dark eyes often flashed brightly from the pallid countenance, and a strange emotion thrilled the youth, as if a ray from the spirit-world had fallen upon him. Yes, from the spirit-world, where he hovered with his beloved, far above all earthly tumult, far as the pure fancy of a youth whose heart is full of a great, sacred love can soar. Oh! God, how immeasurably he loved her! How his whole being was bound up in this affection! How all his thoughts, feelings, emotions were merged into, carried away by, this passion! How every drop of blood that flowed through his throbbing heart glowed with this love! How every breath that passed over his fevered lips ever murmured: I love you, I love you!