Romantic Ballads | Page 7

she stopp'd,
His arm upheld her, or
the maid had dropp'd;
The roses faded from her face away,
And on
her head the raven locks grew gray.
All he had borne, and what he yet
must bear,
He murmurs to her whilst she trembles there:
The hero
then with dying ardour press'd,
For the last time, his bosom to her
breast.
"Farewell! Minona, all my fears are flown,
And if I grieve, it is for
thee alone:
Give me a kiss, and give me too a smile,
And let not
tears that parting look defile.
Now will I drink the bitter draught of
death,
And yield courageously my forfeit breath:-
Farewell! may
heaven take thee in its care,"
He said, and mounted swiftly in the air.
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.
She hears a faint shriek in the air below,
And, swift as eagle pounces
on his foe,
Down, down, she dropp'd, and lighted on the shore,

Which far and wide was wet with Harrald's gore.
She smil'd so
ruefully, but still was mute -
His good right hand was lying at her foot:

That pledge of truth, in love's unclouded day,
Was the sole remnant
of the demon's prey.
Deep in her breast she hid the bloody hand,
And bade adieu, for ever,
to the land:
Again she scower'd through the airy path,
Her eyeballs
terrible with madden'd wrath:
The raven-sorcerer at length she spied,

And soon her steel was with his hot blood dyed:
The huge black
body, piecemeal, found a grave
Amid the bosom of the briny wave.
The ocean billows fret and foam no more,
But softly rush towards the
pebbled shore,
On which the lindens stand, in many a group,
With
leafy boughs that o'er the waters droop.
There floats one single

cloudlet in the blue,
Close where the pale moon shows her face anew:

It is Minona dying there that flies, -
She sinks not!--no--she mounts
unto the skies.
FRIDLEIF AND HELGA.
FROM THE DANISH OF
OEHLENSLAEGER.
The woods were in leaf, and they cast a sweet shade;
Among them
walk'd Helga, the beautiful maid.
The water is dashing o'er yon little stones;
She sat down beside it, and
rested her bones.
She sat down, and soon, from a bush that was near,
Sir Fridleif
approach'd her with sword and with spear:
"Ah, pity me, Helga, and fly me not now,
I live, only live, on the
smile of thy brow:
"In thy father's whole garden is found not a rose,
Which bright as
thyself, and as beautiful grows."
"Sir Fridleif, thy words are but meant to deceive,
Yet tell me what
brings thee so late here at eve."
"I cannot find rest, and I cannot find ease,
Though sweet sing the
linnets among the wild trees;
"If thou wilt but promise, one day to be mine,
No more shall I sorrow,
no more shall I pine."
She sank in his arms, and her cheeks were as red
As the sun when he
sinks in his watery bed;
But soon she arose from his loving embrace;
He walk'd by her side,
through the wood, for a space.

"Now listen, young Fridleif, the gallant and bold,
Take off from my
finger this ring of red gold,
Take off from my finger this ring of red gold,
And part with it not, till
in death thou art cold."
Sir Fridleif stood there in a sorrowful plight,
Salt tears wet his
eyeballs, and blinded his sight.
"Go home, and I'll come to thy father with speed,
And claim thee
from him, on my mighty grey steed."
Sir Fridleif, at night, through the thick forest rode,
He fain would
arrive at his lov'd one's abode;
His harness was clanking, his helm glitter'd sheen,
His horse was so
swift, and himself was so keen:
He reach'd the proud castle, and jump'd on the ground,
His horse to
the branch of a linden he bound;
He shoulder'd his mantle of grey otter skin,
And through the wide
door, to Sir Erik went in.
"Here sitt'st thou, Sir Erik, in scarlet array'd;
I've wedded thy
daughter, the beautiful maid."
"And who art thou, Rider? what feat hast thou done?
No nidering
coward shall e'er be