Canto IV

When like a mirror shone the brooklet's face, —
Lit up by thousands stars' illuming rays, —
John found himself at Helen's garden gate,
How he got there, not he could e'en relate.

He stopped. Upon his reed-pipe then he blew,
The saddest, most heartrending tune he knew.
The dew drops on the blade o'grass and leaf
Were tears of stars which felt with him his grief.

Helen already slept. In summer nights
To sleep upon the front porch she delights.
She was aroused by the familiar tune,
She rose, goes down, and is at Johns side soon.

She did not like his looks, she seemed affright,
This is her faltering speech made at his sight:
"What ails thee John, thou art so ghastly white
As is the moon on dismal autumn night?"
"Why should I not be pale? beloved one, hear?
Thy sweet face I no more shall see, I fear."
"Oh, John, thy looks have frightened me enough,
For heaven's sake, talk not such -foolish stuff."

"My heart's fair springtide, we shall meet no more,
Nor will my reed again my woes outpour.
This is my last embrace, my good-bye kiss,
Forever I myself from here dismiss."

The poor, ill fated lad then tells her all,
Upon his weeping sweetheart's breast doth fall.
Caresses her, but turns away his eyes,
She must not see that he too freely cries.

"Dear, beauteous Helen, sweetest rose, good-bye!
Let now and then thy thoughts towards me fly.
If thou should'st see dry stalks by stormwind borne,
Think of thy roving lover from thee torn."

"Dear John, good bye; go, if 'tis God's decree!
Each step in life thou makest He be with thee!
See'st thou a faded flower thrown away, -j

Think of thy sweetheart left here to decay/'

They parted as from tree-twigs parts the leaf,
Their hearts grew desolate weighed down with grief.
Poor Helen weeps, the shower from her eyes,
John with his flowing shirt sleeves gently dries.

He started, never looked though where he went,
What did he care? To be gone his intent.
The crackling of the storks, the shepherds' song
He did not heed, but went his way headlong.

He left his home behind him long ago,
He saw no more the herdsmen's bonfires' glow.
When once he stopped and turned to take a look,
The tower viewed him like a ghastly spook.
If any one then would have been near-by,
He could have heard him heave a heartfelt sigh.
The air is cleft by cranes which swiftly fly,
They do not hear him though, they were so high.

He jogged along into the silent night,
The ample fur coat round his shoulders quite
Distinctly flaps. The cloak is heavy, though
More weighty is his sore heart's awful woe.