It was an eve in late summer, autumn was nigh   still a warm sun did colour the sky   The meadows did shine in a strange golden light   and vales did forth the soft haze of night      When through the air a voice did resound   beckoning the shepherd to rise from the ground      [THE SHEPHERD:]   "What sweet voice does sing in such a woebegone tone?   What maiden does wander the heather alone?"      Bewitched by its tone, he followed her song,   whilst the sun did descend and the shadows grew long   In the dim light of dusk, near the sparkling cascade   on a moss covered stone sat a crying young maid      [THE SHEPHERD:]   "Why art thou dreary? What happened to thee?   What song didst thou sing so woefully?"      [THE MAIDEN:]   "Go whither O shepherd! Don't sadden thine heart   Thou canst not help me - not thou who thou art!   An old man who's been born in a cradle of wood   of a tree that at least a hundred years stood,   cut by a boy who at heart was still pure -   might be my redeemer if he knew that he could..."