oubled its course,
And the gurgling water seemed to say, 'Look!
I struggle, and tumble, and murmur hoarse.

"'How these stones obstruct my road!
How I wish they were off and gone!
Then I would flow, as once I flowed,
Singing in silvery undertone.'

"Then little Cristelle, as bright as a bird,
Put off the shoes from her young, white feet;
She moves two stones, she comes to the third;
The brook already sings, 'Thanks! Sweet! Sweet!'

"O, then she hears the lark in the skies,
And thinks, 'What is it to God he says?'
And she tumbles and falls, and cannot rise,
For the water stifles her downward face.

"The little brook flows on as before,
The little lark sings with as sweet a sound,
The little babe crows at the cottage door,
And the red rose blooms; but Cristelle lies drowned!

"Come in softly; this is the room.
Is not that an innocent face?
Yes, those flowers give a faint perfume:
Think, child, of heaven, and our Lord his grace.

"Three at the right, and three at the left,
Two at the feet, and two at the head,
The tapers burn; the friends bereft
Have cried till their eyes are swollen and red.

"Who would have thought it, when little Cristelle
Pondered on what the preacher had told?
But the wise God does all things well,
And the fair young creature lies dead and cold!

"Then the little stream crept into the place,
And rippled up to the coffin's side,
And touched the corpse on its pale round face,
And kissed the eyes till they trembled wide,--

"Saying, 'I am a river of joy from Heaven;
You helped the brook, and I help you;
I sprinkle your brows with life-drops seven;
I bathe your eyes with healing dew.'

"Then a rose branch in through the window came,
And colored her lips and cheeks with red;
'I remember, and Heaven does the same,'
Was all that the faithful rose branch said.

"Then a bright, small form to her cold neck clung;
It breathed on her till her breast did fill,
Saying, 'I am a cherub fond and young,
And I saw who breathed on the baby's mill.'