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Translated by H. W. Dulcken
TO the joyous feast has the ranger gone; | |
| Through the darksome wood strides the poacher on. | |
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| The ranger’s wife and child are asleep; | |
| Through their chamber-window the moonbeams peep. | |
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| And while they play on the wall so white, | 5 |
| The child grasps the mother in wild affright! | |
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| “O mother, where tarries my father dear? | |
| I am so cold and so sick with fear.” | |
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| “My child, look not where the moonbeams creep; | |
| But close thine eyes, child, and go to sleep.” | 10 |
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| The moon’s light travels along the wall, | |
| And now on the polished gun doth fall. | |
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| “Mother, that sound!—and hear’st thou not?— | |
| ’T was not father’s gun that fired the shot.” | |
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| “My child, look not where the moonbeams creep; | 15 |
| That was a dream, love,—go thou to sleep.” | |
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| The moonlight doth still through the chamber stream | |
| On the father’s picture with pallid beam. | |
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| “Lord Jesus, guard us this fearful night! | |
| Look, mother, my father is deadly white!” | 20 |
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| Then sprang from her slumber the mother in dread! | |
| And lo! they were bringing her husband—dead! | |
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