A band that seemed of the moonlight sheen.
"We are one," she sang, as about his hair
She twined it, and over her tresses fair.
Beneath them the world lay dark and drear:
But he felt the touch of her hand so dear,
Uplifting him far above mortals' sight,
While around him were shed her locks of light,
Till a garden fair lay about him spread--
And this was Paradise, angels said.'"


"Never in your life did you sing so sweetly," said the
dreaming Edwald.

"That may well be, Edchen," said Froda, with a smile, and
vanished.

But Edwald dreamed on and on, and many other visions passed
before him, all of a pleasing kind, although he could not
recall them when, in the full light of morning, he unclosed
his eyes with a smile. Froda alone, and his mysterious song,
stood clear in his memory. He now knew full well that his
friend was dead; but the thought gave him no pain, for he felt
sure that the pure spirit of that minstrel-warrior could only
find its proper joy in the gardens of Paradise, and in
blissful solace with the lofty spirits of the ancient times.
He glided softly from the side of the sleeping Hildegardis to
the chamber of the departed. He lay upon his bed of rest,
almost as beautiful as he had appeared in the dream, and his
golden helmet was entwined with a wondrously-shining lock of