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,