But flitting by--now here--now there--
Seem'd dim, uncertain, shadowy forms,
Through the misty moonlit air.
And now the floating wreck draws near,
Yet in the ship 'tis tranquil all;
That maiden stands on the deck alone
To gaze on the stars so small.
'Fair Gunhild;' faintly sighs a voice,
Thou seek'st thine own betrothed love--
But his home is not on the stranger's land,