Came the dread Archer up yonder lawn — Night is the time for the old to die — But woe for an arrow that smote the fawn, When the hind that was sick unscathed went by.
Father lay moaning, “Her fault was sore ( Night is the time when the old must die ), Yet, ah to bless her, my child, once more, For heart is failing: the end is nigh.”
“Daughter, my daughter, my girl,” I cried ( Night is the time for the old to die ), “Woe for the wish if till morn ye bide” — Dark was the welkin and wild the sky.
Heavily plunged from the roof the snow — ( Night is the time when the old will die ), She answered, “My mother,‘ tis well, I go.” Sparkled the north star, the wrack flew high.
First at his head, and last at his feet ( Night is the time when the old should die ), Kneeling I watched till his soul did fleet, None else that loved him, none else were nigh.
I wept in the night as the desolate weep ( Night is the time for the old to die ), Cometh my daughter? the drifts are deep, Across the cold hollows how white they lie.
I sought her afar through the spectral trees ( Night is the time when the old must die ), The fells were all muffled, the floods did freeze, And a wrathful moon hung red in the sky.
By night I found her where pent waves steal ( Night is the time when the old should die ), But she lay stiff by the locked mill-wheel, And the old stars lived in their homes on high.
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