Then he saw three maidens sitting under the green roof of a maple tree, silent and mournful; their eyes were wet as if dewdrops hung in the drooping eyelashes; they uttered complaining words in soft tones like the rustling of the night wind in the leaves.
"Let us take leave of each other," lisped softly the voice of one; "our time is come. When the rosy dawn awakes he will come who cut down our sisters; and as they are fallen, so must we. Desolate will be the spot that saw us so oft united in joy, lonely the moonlight that shone on our dance. The nymphs of the lake and the mountain stream will look out for us, longing for our coming, and ask, 'Where are our friends of the mountain? Why do they not descend when the queen of the stars illuminates our palace?' Happy sisters, ye are as yet safe from our mournful fate, for ye are secure in your retreat from the barbarian!"
"Weep not, sister!" said another, with light moaning; "weep not over our inevitable destiny. To see that we must die grieves me not, for all our beloved are gone on before us; but that we are the last of our race, and our line becomes with us extinct, that it is that fills my heart with woe.
"That our race might continue I would live on, and if I could appear in person to him who will come in the morning with his axe to annihilate us, I would entreat him for the blessing of life, and he would not refuse my entreaty.
"But only night gives us being comprehensible to men; the day confines us stiff and without form in our narrow house."
"Ah! if we could only appear to him!" added the third; "if we could only appear and beg him for life, we should not plead in vain; I have seen him mourn too, have heard him lament the beautiful forest.
"And what benefit would it be to him to destroy us also? What benefit has it been to him that he has destroyed our sisters? Will the products of this soil repay the labour of tillage? But we would gladly, though invisible, help him to cultivate the land during the hours when we have a form, if he would take pity and spare the last of a great race."
The old soldier, who had listened in surprise to this singular conversation, could contain himself no longer. "By the sword of my Kaiser!" he cried, springing to his feet, "cursed be the hand that should do you an injury, ye innocent beings; destroy you I will not, no, but protect and defend you with my goods, blood, and life.
"But who are ye? Was it a dream that charmed my senses?"
Terrified, the maidens had vanished at his first words.