How soft the moon-beams' gentle whisper,
From where the dead live evermore!
They tell of light and love unbroken,
In homes devoid of care and pain;
Where joyous words alone are spoken,
There thou my love shalt ever reign.

Oh, weep not, love, those tears regretful,
While through my heart the life-blood streams;
But sweetly sleep,--of grief forgetful
May love and Fridthjof fill thy dreams.
Oh! when thine arms thou foldest round me,
When thy dear eyes but look on me,
How quickly breaks the spell that bound me,
How turn my thoughts from heaven to thee!

"List to the lark's melodious numbers."
Nay, 'tis a dove his love-song sings,
The lark on yonder hillock slumbers,
Beside his mate with folded wings.
How happy they, always together,
As free their life as wings that bear
Through cheerless storm or sunny weather,
Above the clouds, that happy pair.

"See, daybreak comes." Nay, but ascended
From some far beacon is the light;
Our happy talk is not yet ended,
Nor yet so soon the lovely night.
Bright morning stat sleep till to-morrow,