Fell he at the boatman's feet.
So the parish-people told me; and as years went rolling by
Oft they saw him sadly staring on the flaming sunset sky;
Watched the purple-stainèd Yokul, half in joy and half in pain,
As if hoped he there to see her coming back to earth again;
Mourned his silence,
Fateful silence,
That had rent two lives atwain.
Till at length one Sabbath morning—deep-voiced church-bells shook the air—
While in festal garb the church-folk wandered to their house of prayer,