The company were sitting at dinner; Bertalda, looking like some goddess of spring with her flowers and jewels, the presents of her foster-parents and friends, was placed between Undine and Huldbrand.
When the rich repast was ended, and the last course had appeared, the doors were left open, according to a good old German custom, that the common people might look on, and take part in the festivity of the nobles. Servants were carrying round cake and wine among the spectators. Huldbrand and Bertalda were waiting with secret impatience for the promised explanation, and sat with their eyes fixed steadily on Undine. But the beautiful wife still continued silent, and only kept smiling to herself with secret and hearty satisfaction. All who knew of the promise she had given could see that she was every moment on the point of betraying her happy secret, and that it was with a sort of longing renunciation that she withheld it, just as children sometimes delay the enjoyment of their choicest morsels. Bertalda and Huldbrand shared this delightful feeling, and expected with fearful hope the tidings which were to fall from the lips of Undine. Several of the company pressed Undine to sing. The request seemed opportune, and ordering her lute to be brought, she sang the following words:--
Bright opening day, Wild flowers so gay, Tall grasses their thirst that slake, On the banks of the billowy lake!
What glimmers there so shining The reedy growth entwining?
Is it a blossom white as snow Fallen from heav'n here below?
It is an infant, frail and dear!
With flowerets playing in its dreams And grasping morning's golden beams;
Oh! whence, sweet stranger, art thou here?
From some far-off and unknown strand, The lake has borne thee to this land.
Nay, grasp not tender little one, With thy tiny hand outspread;
No hand will meet thy touch with love, Mute is that flowery bed.
The flowers can deck themselves so fair And breathe forth fragrance blest, Yet none can press thee to itself, Like that far-off mother's breast.
So early at the gate of life, With smiles of heav'n on thy brow, Thou hast the best of treasures lost, Poor wand'ring child, nor know'st it now.
A noble duke comes riding by, And near thee checks his courser's speed, And full of ardent chivalry He bears thee home upon his steed.
Much, endless much, has been thy gain!
Thou bloom'st the fairest in the land!
Yet ah! the priceless joy of all, Thou'st left upon an unknown strand.
Undine dropped her lute with a melancholy smile, and the eyes of Bertalda's foster-parents were filled with tears. "Yes, so it was on the morning that I found you, my poor sweet orphan," said the duke, deeply agitated; "the beautiful singer is certainly right; we have not been able to give you that `priceless joy of all.'"
"But we must also hear how it fared with the poor parents," said Undine, as she resumed her lute, and sang:--
Thro' every chamber roams the mother, Moves and searches everywhere, Seeks, she scarce knows what, with sadness, And finds an empty house is there.
An empty house! Oh, word of sorrow, To her who once had been so blest, Who led her child about by day And cradled it at night to rest.
The beech is growing green again, The sunshine gilds its wonted spot, But mother, cease thy searching vain!
Thy little loved one cometh not.
And when the breath of eve blows cool, And father in his home appears, The smile he almost tries to wear Is quenched at once by gushing tears.
Full well he knows that in his home He naught can find but wild despair, He hears the mother's grieved lament And no bright infant greets him there.
"Oh! for God's sake, Undine, where are my parents" cried the weeping Bertalda; "you surely know; you have discovered them, you wonderful being, for otherwise you would not have thus torn me heart. Are they perhaps already here? Can it be?" Her eye passed quickly over the brilliant company and lingered an a lady of high rank who was sitting next her foster-father. Undine, however, turned toward the door, while her eyes overflowed with the sweetest emotion. "Where are the poor waiting parents?" she inquired, and, the old fisherman and his wife advanced hesitatingly from the crowd of spectators.
