ow the burning stars.
The meteor, token of death, flies sparkling through
the gloom. It rests on the hill. I see the withered
form, the dark-browed rock, the fallen oak. Who is
that in his shroud beneath the tree by the stream? The
waves dark tumble on the lake, and lash its rocky
sides. A maid sits sad beside the rock, and eyes the
rolling stream. Her lover promised to come. She saw
his boat, when yet it was light, on the lake. Is this
his broken boat on the shore? Are these his groans on
the wind? Hark! the hail rattles around. The flaky
snow descends. The tops of the hills are white. The
stormy wind abates. Various is the night, and cold.
Receive me, my friends, from night."

The fourth bard takes up the theme thus:

"Night is calm and fair; blue, starry, settled is
night. The winds, with the clouds, are gone. They sink
behind the hill. The moon is up on the mountain. Trees
glister; streams shine on the rock. Bright rolls the
settled lake; bright the stream of the vale. I see the
trees overturned; the shocks of corn on the plain.
The wakeful hind rebuilds the shocks, and whistles on
the distant field. Calm, settled, fair is night! Who
comes from the place of the dead? That form with the
robe of snow; white arms with dark-brown hair! It is
the daughter of the chief of the people--she that
lately fell! Come, let us view thee, O maid! thou that
hast been the delight of heroes! The blast drives the
phantom away; white, without form, it ascends the
hill. The breeze drives the blue mist slowly over the
narrow vale. It rises on the hill, and joins its head
to heaven. Night is settled, calm, blue, starry,
bright with the moon. Receive me not, my friends, for
lovely is the night."

The fifth bard chants:

"Night is calm, but dreary. The moon is in a cloud in
the west. Slow moves that pale beam along the shaded
hill. The distant wave is heard. The torrent murmurs
on the rock. The cock is heard from the booth. More
than half the night is past. The housewife, groping in
the gloom, rekindles the settled fire. The hunter
thinks the day approaches, and calls his bounding
dogs. He ascends the hill, and whistles on his way. A
blast removes the clouds. He sees the starry plough of