High on the yard-arm hoisted is the sail,
Half spread it flutters in the evening gale.
The night before he goes, young Harrald stray'd
Into the wood where first he saw his maid:
Burning impatience fever'd all his blood,
He wish'd for wings to bear him o'er the flood.

Then sigh'd the wind among the bushy grounds,
Far in the distance rose the yell of hounds:
The flame-wisps, starting from the sedge and grass,
Hung, 'mid the vapours, over the morass.
Up to him came a beldame, wildly drest,
Bearing a closely-folded feather-vest:
She smil'd upon him with her cheeks so wan,
Gave him the robe, and was already gone.

Young Harrald, though astonish'd, has no fears;
The mighty garment in his hand he rears:
Of wond'rous lovely feathers it was made,
Which once the roc and ostrich had array'd.
He wishes much to veil in it his form,
And speed as rapidly as speeds the storm:
He puts it on, then seeks the open plain, -
Takes a short flight, and flutters back again.

"Courage!" he cried, "I will no longer stay;
Scotland shall see me, ere the break of day."
Then like a dragon in the air he soars,
Startled from slumber, in his wake it roars.
His wings across the ocean take their flight;