She gaz'd; but he had vanish'd from her view;
She stood forsaken in the damp and dew,
Then dark emotion quiver'd in her eye,
And thus she pray'd, with hands uplifted high:
"Thou who wert vainly tempted in the wild,
Thou who wert always charitably mild,
Thou who mad'st Peter walk on billows blue,
Enable me my Harrald to pursue."
Sunken already was the morning star,
The song of nightingales was heard afar,
The red sun peep'd above the mountain's brow,
And flowers scented all the vale below.
There came a youthful maiden, gaily drest,
Bearing upon her back a feather-vest;
Fondly she kiss'd Minona's features wan,
Gave her the robe, and then at once was gone.
And straight Minona clothes in it her limbs,
And soaring upward through the ether swims:
To moan and sob, her madden'd breast disdains,
Too big for such low comfort are its pains.
The fowls that meet her in yon airy fields,
She clips in pieces with an axe she wields;
Each clanging pinion ceaselessly she plies,
But cannot meet the raven or his prize.
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