And slow the full moon, red as blood,

Midst threat'ning clouds up heaven wended -

Then gazed the Monk upon the flood.

He gaz'd, and, fear his mind surprising,

Himself no more the hermit knows:

He sees with foam the waters rising,

And then subsiding to repose,

And sudden, light as night-ghost wanders,

A female thence her form uprais'd,

Pale as the snow which winter squanders,

And on the bank herself she plac'd.

She gazes on the hermit hoary,

And combs her long hair, tress by tress;

The Monk he quakes, but on the glory

Looks wistful of her loveliness;

Now becks with hand that winsome creature,

And now she noddeth with her head,

Then sudden, like a fallen meteor,

She plunges in her watery bed.

No sleep that night the old man cheereth,

No prayer throughout next day he pray'd

Still, still, against his wish, appeareth

Before him that mysterious maid.

Darkness again the wood investeth,

The moon midst clouds is seen to sail,

And once more on the margin resteth

The maiden beautiful and pale.

With head she bow'd, with look she courted,

And kiss'd her hand repeatedly,

Splashed with the water, gaily sported,

And wept and laugh'd like infancy -

She names the monk, with tones heart-urging

Exclaims "O Monk, come, come to me!"

Then sudden midst the waters merging