Cekánj

Now the moon is rising
O'er the forest trees,
Fain would I inform me
Where my lover is:

For he made me promise,
Ere the moon should smile,
Here to wait his coming—
What a weary while!

All the cows—I've milk'd them—
O, the ling'ring hour:
I have wreath'd the arbor
With each fragrant flower.

Wherefore does he tarry?
Welcome would he be ;
Many a kiss should meet him,
Come, O come to me!

O! he comes—I hear him,
Yes! I hear him now—
No! it was the breezes
Rustling in the bough.

What can have detained him—
Has some maiden's song?
Else he had not linger'd,
Linger'd there so long.

I had scatter'd flow'rets,
Flow'rets for his bed:
I had hung up ivy
Garlands o'er his head.

Has some lambkin wander'd—
Does he track it now
Down the craggy mountain
To the deeps below?

O thou silver planet—
Thou of palest beam!
Tell him that Lelida
Weeps—and weeps for him.

But if wolves have seiz'd him,
What have I to do,
Desolate Lelida—
But to perish too!