"What shall I say, but thank thee for my life?
I am a maiden from far Southern climes
Come searching for my lover. Dost thou know
Where cruel OENE hast my BERTHO hidden?
What do'est _thou_ here? It must be thou art come
In search of wife or child,--what other fate
Could lead thee to such barren heights as these?"

"Alas! dear child! there are other springs than love
To move the human heart. Ambition, may be;
Or better, a desire to serve my Queen
And my illustrious country, led me here."

He paused and sighed. She saw his locks were thin;
Some white with years, but more with troubled toil;
And that he stood barefooted in the snow.
The pitying tears began within her eyes
To gather into brightness as she gazed,
Upon the grey, sublime, forlorn old man.
Coldly the moonlight glinted o'er the group
Regarding each the other with surprise:--
She, sad at his abandonment of hope;
He, struck with mingled wonder and delight
To meet this woman, beautiful and young.

"Dear friend," she said, brushing away her tears,
"If thou wilt rest thee on this smoothest rock
And tell me who thou art, and whence did come,
And wherefore lingering here, pleased will I listen."