And our bridge is our pride. I must laugh always
When I think back of the olden days,
And all the trouble and misery
That with the wretched boat would be;
And many cheerful Christmas nights
I spent at the ferryman's house—the lights
From our windows I'd watch and count them o'er,
And could not reach the other shore."
The bridgekeeper's house that stands in the north—
All windows to the south look forth,
And the inmates there without peace or rest
Are gazing southward with anxious zest:
More furious grew the winds' wild games,
And now, as if the sky poured flames,
Comes shooting down a radiance bright
O'er the water below.—Now again all is night.
"When shall we three meet again?"
"At midnight the top of the mountain attain!"
"By the alder-stem on the high moorland plain!"
"I'll come."
"And I too."
"And the number I'll tell."
"And I the names."
"I the torture right well."
"Whoo!
Like splinters the woodwork crashed in two."
"A bawble,—a naught,
What the hand of man hath wrought!"
[Footnote 4: Translator: Margarete Münsterberg.]
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