Though the night is black and cold
Love’s ond story, pften told,
Float’s in whispers thorugh the air.
Stalwart youth and maiden fair
Seal sweet vows of ardent passion
With thier lips, in lover’s fashion.
Restless, pale, a shape I see
Hov’ring nigh; what may it be?
‘Tis a charger; white as snow,
Pacing slowly to and fro
Like a sentry. As he turns
Haughtily the sward he spurns.
“Leave me not, beloved, to-night!
Stay with me till morning’s light!”
Weeping, thus besought the maid;
“Love, my soul is sore afraid!
Brave not the dread Vampyre’s power,
Mightiest at this mystic hour!”
Not a word he spake, but prest
The sobbing maiden to his breast;
Kissed her lips and cheeks and sighs;
Waved his hand, with a gesture gay;]
Mounted–smiled–and rode away.
from the Roumanian of Vasile Alecsandri