Long and weary were the succeeding days, spent as they were by Kingen
in guiding his oxen and by Shokujo in plying her shuttle. The Sun-King
was gladdened by his daughter's industry. When night fell and the
heavens were bright with countless lights, the lovers were wont,
standing on the banks of the celestial stream, to waft across it sweet
and tender messages, while each uttered a prayer for the speedy coming
of the wondrous night.

The long-hoped-for month and day drew nigh, and the hearts of the
lovers were troubled lest rain should fall; for the Silver River, full
at all times, is at that season often in flood, and the bird-bridge
might be swept away.

The day broke cloudlessly bright. It waxed and waned, and one by one
the lamps of heaven were lighted. At nightfall the magpies assembled,
and Shokujo, quivering with delight, crossed the slender bridge and
fell into the arms of her lover. Their transport of joy was as the joy
of the parched flower, when the raindrop falls upon it; but the moment
of parting soon came, and Shokujo sorrowfully retraced her steps.

Year follows year, and the lovers still meet in that far-off land on
the seventh night of the seventh month, save when rain has swelled
the Silver River and rendered the crossing impossible. The hope of a
permanent reunion still fills the hearts of the Star-Lovers, and is to
them as a sweet fragrance and a beautiful vision.