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28 Her tears of grief were tears of joy, As, folded in his strong embrace,

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She looked in Esek Harden's face.

"Oh, truest friend of all!" she said,
"God bless you for your kindly thought,
And make me worthy of my lot!"

He led her forth, and, blent in one,
Beside their happy pathway ran
The shadows of the maid and man.

He led her through his dewy fields,

To where the swinging lanterns glowed,
And through the doors the huskers showed.

"Good friends and neighbors!” Esek said,

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"She greets you kindly, one and all;

The past is past, and all offence
Falls harmless from her innocence.

"Henceforth she stands no more alone:
You know what Esek Harden is;
He brooks no wrong to him or his.

"Now let the merriest tales be told,
And let the sweetest songs be sung
That ever made the old heart young!

"For now the lost has found a home;
And a lone hearth shall brighter burn,
As all the household joys return! "

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Well knew the tough old Teuton
Who brewed the stoutest ale,
15 And he paid the goodwife's reckoning
In the coin of song and tale.

20

The songs they still are singing
Who dress the hills of vine,
The tales that haunt the Brocken
And whisper down the Rhine.

Woodsy and wild and lonesome,
The swift stream wound away,
Through birches and scarlet maples
Flashing in foam and spray, -

25 Down on the sharp-horned ledges
Plunging in steep cascade,
Tossing its white-maned waters
Against the hemlock's shade.

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Woodsy and wild and lonesome,

East and west and north and south;

Only the village of fishers

Down at the river's mouth;

Only here and there a clearing,

With its farm-house rude and new, 35 And tree-stumps, swart as Indians, Where the scanty harvest grew.

No shout of home-bound reapers,
No vintage-song he heard,

19. The Brocken is the highest summit of the Hartz range in Germany, and a great body of superstitions has gathered about the whole range. May-day night, called Walpurgis Night, is eld to be the time of a great witch festival on the Brocken.

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