And far from hence its stream is crossed
By the bridge on the road that you have lost;
Gold may not buy, till your weary feet
Have traversed the river and reached the street,
The thing you ask; but the wandering moon
Will be out in the sky with her lantern soon;
Then cross o’er the meadow, and look to the right,
And you’ll find my second by her light.”
My second shone like a silver floor,
When the traveler passed from the cotter’s door;