The little questioner he set,
And to his daughter playful turned,
Whose cheeks with recent tears were wet, —
"Come, Ola ! hear a tale I learned
Long since ; 'tis one will suit thee well,
Sit thou beside me while I tell !"
Thou seest in the West, where the waves wash the sky,
The torch of the day-star at eve slow expiring ;
Again dost behold, with thine opening eye,
His flambeau rekindled, the Orient firing.
Hath any e'er shown thee, who quencheth its light ?
E'er told thee of Quelling, the maiden immortal ?
Of Delling, the youth, with his locks amber-bright,
Who bears it, relighted, through Morn's flashing portal ?