nt before left the chamber; then he
forgot his resolutions, exhibited all the gestures of sorrow, and
called upon his lowest servant for sympathy. All the city and country
wept and condoled with him, with their whole hearts. It is worthy of
remark, that it was noised abroad that the princess yet lived, and
would soon return with a husband. No one knew whence this report arose;
but every one clung to it with joyous belief, and awaited her return
with impatient expectation. Thus several months passed on, until spring
again drew nigh. "What will you wager," said some of sanguine
disposition, "that the princess will not return also?" Even the king
grew more serene and hopeful. The report seemed to him like a promise
from some kind power. The accustomed festivals were again renewed, and
nought seemed wanting but the princess to fill up the bloom of their
former splendor. One evening, exactly a year from the time when she
disappeared, the whole court was assembled in the garden. The air was
warm and serene; and no sound was heard but that of the gentle wind in
the tops of the old trees, announcing, as it were, the approach of some
far off joy. A mighty fountain, arising amid the torches, which with
their innumerable lights relieved the duskiness of the sighing
tree-tops, accompanied the varied songs with melodious murmurs sounding
through the forest. The king sat upon a costly carpet, and the court in
festal dress was gathered around him. The multitude filled the garden,
and encircled the splendid scene. The king at this moment was sitting
plunged in profound thought. The image of his lost daughter appeared
before him with unwonted clearness. He thought of the happy days, which
ended with the last year about that time. A burning desire overpowered
him, and the tears flowed fast down his venerable cheeks; yet he
experienced a hope, as clear as it was unusual. It seemed as if the
past year of sorrow were but a heavy dream, and he raised his eyes as
if seeking her lofty, holy, captivating form amidst the people and the
trees. The minstrel had just ended, and deep silence gave evidence of
deep emotion; for the poets had sung of the joys of meeting, of spring,
and of the future, as hope is accustomed to adorn them.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the low sound of an unknown but
beautiful voice, which seemed to proceed from an aged oak. All looks
were directed towards it, and a young man in simple, but peculiar
dress, was