And the knight, being entranced with the supernatural beauty of Undine, rushed eagerly towards her with his arms extended, as if he would clasp her to his bosom; but she shrunk from his approach like the sensitive plant, which thrillingly feels, yet dares not meet, man’s touch—and the eager knight embraced the empty air.
When I was a little child, I once tried to catch a beautiful bird that sat singing in a green bush; but when my hand, certain of its victim, closed to grasp it, a gleam of loveliness shot across my eyes—a wild burst of joyous melody smote my ears—and that bird like a midnight dream, passed from my sight forever. Hope ceased her guardian watch, and as she turned her face from me, threw deep black shadows far into my heart. So felt the strange knight, as he stood with extended arms motionless and eyes gazing wildly in the direction whence Undine had vanished, until the good old hermit came and laid his hand upon the youth’s shoulder, and spoke kindly to him—for he knew that his guest was in a charmed spell, and could no more control his thought.
So he led the knight, as he would have done a child, to a beautiful arbor at the bottom of the garden, where the moon-beams had stolen through the vine leaves, and were dallying with the dew—for the tempest had suddenly ceased, and the majestic night had come forth uncovered, to hold her starry court—and pointed to a rustic bed made of dry leaves and moss. Then he blessed him and departed—and the stranger slept sweetly beneath the sheltering wings of night. But it was his body alone that slumbered: for no sooner had he closed his eyes than a thousand faces, radiant with smiles and witching tenderness, clustered around him—and, oh rapture! among them was Undine, who came joyously towards him, and flung herself confidingly into his arms; and, as she looked up in his face, he thought he had passed the cloudy shadows which separate earth from heaven, and was already in the abode of immortal bliss.
But I will not protract my story. The knight fell impetuously in love with the little fairy girl, who told him that she had sacrificed her immortality out of pure love for him, and promised him every delight that physical or intellectual longing could possibly conceive—so long as he was faithful to her: and the little witch kept her word, and had told him the truth, too, as you shall presently see—for her father, Kuhleborn, and all the rest of her fairy acquaintances, gradually forsook her, and she held no more communion with the winged spirit of the ideal world, save with that one who is ever near the object of her anxiety and love—her mother! Aye, that fairy mother, in the still star-light, when Undine slept like a rose upon the bosom of her lord, would come and fan her with her musical wings, and breathe fragrance over her, and spangle her hair with tears of love and fondness—and then the knight would wake and kiss them up, and fold her more closely to his breast; and the mother would glide noiselessly away, and sit in pleasant sadness by the river’s bank, until the garish day-light frightened her back to her haunts in the deep forest.
Well—this lasted for some time; the old hermit sanctioning with his smiles the endearments of the fond pair; for he knew that Undine’s only chance of happiness was in the constancy of the stranger knight—for she had forfeited her immortal nature, and trusted all her rich treasure of hope and happiness to a human love! How precious the cargo! how frail the bark! what a little tempest will shatter this slight vessel, and strew the glittering fragments of its freight upon the sands!
Anon came a gallant array of knights from his father’s court, to conduct our bewildered lover back to life. Congratulations upon his safety, and the evident joy which dwelt upon the features of his friends, at length subdued him, and he consented to return to the gay world. He sought once more his Undine in her favorite bower; and as he approached, a strain of most exquisite music stole upon his ear. He listened, and heard the voice of his own—his beloved—pour forth her soul:
“Farewell, farewell! ye dreams which were my being,
And are no more—at least, no more to me;
I see ye dimly from my presence fleeing—
I know—I know—ye never more can be