Wondering silence,
Gazed he in her innocent eyes.

It was summer: thrush and linnet sung their gladsome summer-lay;
Through the fir trees' cooling vista rose the cataract's white spray;
And the light blue smoke of even o'er the darksome forests fell--
Rose and lingered like a lover loath to bid his love farewell;
And in silence,
Wistful silence,
Shed its peace o'er sunlit dell.

On the pleasant hillside sat they, where the silvery birches grow,
And th' eternal sun of midnight bathed them in its fitful glow--
She a maid of eighteen summers, fresh and fair as Norway's spring;
Tall and dark-browed he, like pine-woods in whose gloom the Hulders[1] sing,
When in silence,
Deep-toned silence,
Night lets droop her dusky wing.

It was now that he must leave her, and the waves and tempest breast:
Heavy-hearted sat they, gazing on the Yokul's flaming crest;
And she spoke: "O Ragnas, never, while yon airy peak shall gleam
O'er our home, shall I forget thee or our childhood's blissful dream,
Until silence,
Death and silence,
Freeze my heart and memory's stream."

Up he sprang, and boldly looked he toward the midnight-lighted west,
Seized her white, soft hand and pressed it closely to his throbbing breast,
And the love his childhood fostered, and in youth made warm his blood,