At last thy footsteps grow uncertain,
Thy weary journey thou must close,
Now evening draws the rosy curtain,
Behind whose folds the gods repose.
The brooks and breezes to each other
In softest whispers love express;
O! welcome Night, of gods the mother,
With pearls upon thy wedding dress.

The stars are gliding like a lover
On tiptoe to a maiden true;
Ellide! fly the deep gulf over,
Roll on, roll on, ye billows blue.
Yon sacred grove a temple hideth,
Good Balder's temple, doubly dear,
For there love's goddess safe abideth,
Unto the gods our course we steer.

Thy shores I tread with joyous measure,
I kiss thy brown cheek, smiling earth,
And all ye little flowers, with treasure
Of white and red, that edge my path.
I hail thee, moon, with pale light streaming
On temple-grove and flowers at rest,
How beautiful thou sittest dreaming
Like Saga at a wedding feast.

To speak with flowers, O, brook, who taught thee
The feeling in my heart a guest?