And the fair lady knew, by the gleam of his shield,
It was Bohdo, the scourge of the red battle field!

Then spurred she her steed over valley and hill,
Over rock, marsh and moor, over river and rill,
Yet still her eye sparkled, and still her cheek glowed,
As onward so fleetly and bravely she rode.

Thus over Thuringia sped she away,
With the speed of the hawk when he darts on his prey,--
Or an arrow let loose from a warrior's bow,
When it speeds with sure aim to the heart of his foe.

Then the Hartz, the wild Hartz--the terrific--the proud!
Where the mist-spirit dwells in his palace of cloud!
Where the evil ones gather in envious wrath,
To blight and to blast,--towered up in her path.

Still her cheek kept its glow, still her eye flashed in pride,
As onward she flew up the steep mountain side;
And fierce as the tempest, and fleet as the wind,
Stern Bohdo, the ruthless, still followed behind.

To a fearful abyss, whose unhallowed name(3)
By the powers of darkness was given, she came,
And the whirlpool's wild voice, from the dark gulf below,
Came up like the wail of a soul in its we.

Beyond rose the rocky shelf, barren and bare,
Beneath lay the whirlpool, around her despair,