Groves, cities, hills, have vanish'd from his sight, -
See! there he goes, lone rider of the sky,
Miles underneath him, black the billows lie.

He hears a clapping on the midnight wind:
Speed, Harrald, speed! the raven is behind.
Flames from his swarthy-rolling eye are cast:-
"Ha! Harrald," scream'd he, "have we met at last?"
For the first time, the youth felt terror's force;
Pale grew his cheek, as that of clammy corse,
Chill was his blood, his nervous arm was faint,
While thus he stammer'd forth his lowly plaint:

"I see it is in vain to strive with fate;
Thank God, my soul is far above thy hate;
But, ere my mortal part thou dost destroy,
Let me one moment of sweet bliss enjoy:
The fair unmatch'd Minona is my love,
For her I travell'd, fool-like, here above:
Let me fly to her with my last farewell,
And I am thine, ere morning decks the fell."

Firmly the raven holding him in air,
Survey'd his prize with fiercely-rabid glare:
"Now is the time to wreak on thee my lust;
Yet thou shalt own that I am good and just."
Then from its socket, Harrald's eye he tore,
And drank a full half of the hero's gore:-
"Since I have mark'd thee, thou art free to go;
But loiter not when thou art there below."