Immo and Hildegard

As the sun went down, it threw its golden light over the heights on which the Idisburg stands. The old tower glowed, bathed in the many-colored light, and the branches of the bramble-berry overspread the low wall of the castle with a net work of purple and gold. In the lower portion of the enclosed court, the children of the townspeople, brought there by their parents, were shouting and calling in their play. On the highest point within the castle wall, stands a linden tree, that makes a thick arbor, with its broad leaves reaching nearly to the ground. It was a lovely spot. Wild hare-bells bloomed in its light shade, and little butterflies fluttered here and there. The birds gathered their young ones together in the sheltering branches of the tree, and the crickets chirped in chorus to the note of the feathered songsters. Here sat Hildegard, the count’s daughter, her hands folded in her lap as she looked down into the valley, over the fields of heather, over the forest trees, and over the rolling hills, far into the distance, where earth and sky seemed to melt together in the evening glow. At a respectful distance, some old serving men, who had been sent up there for her protection, were lying on the ground, but their backs were turned to the maiden as they looked down to the Main, and pointed out to one another the border towns of the enemy, descried under the light clouds. Where Hildegard sat all was still; only a few sounds from the bustling camp made their way up to her. From one side came the lowing of the cows, and every now and then a hoof drew nearer, and the leaves of her tree were pulled about, and there was a crackling and a rustling in the branches. Hildegard turned and scared away the intruders, but they came back again, and the maiden at last forgot in her dreaming her dainty-mouthed visitors. Her lips stirred, and softly sounded the words of a holy hymn, as she sang: Audi, benigne Cond it or, Nostras preces cum fletibus Hear, Kind Creator, Our prayers and our weeping. But, in her singing, her thoughts dwelt le on the Creator than on a certain suppliant who, only a few weeks before, had repeated these same words to her in jest. And while she sang, and with clear eyes looked straight before her, it seemed to her that her song was echoed from above her in the tree. She stopped singing; then there was a rustling in the branches, and through the whispering of the leaves, she heard the same air repeated above her head, but to other words; and she heard from the height: Rana coax it suaviter In foliis viridibus. The frog croaks softly In the green herbage. Hildegard sat motionle ; a smile hovered about her mouth, and a deep blush suffused her cheek; but she dared not risk looking up, for fear lest the pleasant dream should be ended. “Is it thou, my comrade?” she softly murmured. But hardly had she spoken before she repented the too familiar speech. “I am lying here here above thee, in the green leaves,” sounded back to her from overhead. “Right comfortable is my bed on the strong branch; look upward, if so please thee, that I may once more see those large eyes of thine, since it is they that have brought me hither.” The maiden sprang lightly up, and turned toward the branch. In the same instant Immo thrust his head quickly out, and clinging to the branch with one hand he threw the other round her neck, and ki ed her on the mouth. “Good day, comrade,” he said. “That is what I made up my mind to do, and I have done it!” He looked out once more from his hiding-place, and gazed tenderly upon her blushing cheek.—Gustav Freytag, The Wrens’ Nest .