83.
Over the mountains the sun mounts in splendour,
Afar sound the bells of the lambs as they stray;
My loved one, my lamb, my sun bright and tender,
How gladly once more would I see thee to-day!
I gaze up on high, with looks fond and loving—
My child, fare thee well, I must wander from thee;
In vain! for her curtain is still and unmoving—
She slumbering lieth and dreameth of me.