“After grief comes quickly joy—
And joy takes place of every grief.
I know a dear, brown little maid,
She has two dark brown little eyes,
And to my heart she brings this joy.
My own she will be!
No other she will bless!
Thus we shall live in joy and grief
Till cruel Death divide us both!”
There were pure sounds in the forest, where the moonbeams played upon the branches and hung upon the stems, and two joyful human children emulating and contending with the nightingale.