"In the long life be thy recompense!" cried the Neck, fervently, and
taking his harp again, he poured his whole spirit into the strain. And
as he played, it seemed as if the night wind moaned among pine-trees,
but it was more mournful. And it was as the wail of a mother for her
only son, and yet fuller of grief. Or like a Dead March wrung from the
heart of a great musician--loading the air with sorrow--and yet all
these were as nothing to it for sadness. And when the maiden heard it,
it was more than she could bear, and her heart broke, as the Neck had
said. Then the young man sprang to shore, and when she could see his
face clearly, her soul passed, and her body fell like a snapped flower
to the earth.
Now when the young man knew what was befallen, he fell upon the Neck
to kill him, who said, "Thou mayest spare thyself this trouble, for in
a few moments I shall be dead. But do thou take my robe and my harp,
and thou shalt be a famous musician."
Now even as the Neck spoke the sun sank, and he fell upon his face.
And when the young man lifted the robe, behold there was nothing under
it but the harp, across which there swept such a wild and piteous
chord that all the strings burst as if with unutterable grief.
Then the young man lifted the body of his sweetheart in his arms, and
carried her home, and she was buried with many tears.
And in due time he put fresh strings to the harp, which, though it was
not as when it was in the hands of the Neck, yet it made most
exquisite music.
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