Light and fleet was her foot over hollow and hill; Till they reached the rude cleft of the deep-roaring Ghyll. On the black dungeon's brink not a moment he stay'd; O'er the black roaring Ghyll glided softly the Shade. Like a thin wreath of mist she descried him far over-- And her cry pierced the night-boding hill tops above her; When down the loose rocks plunged, and bridged the dark Ghyll. Heard the eagle that shriek from his eyrie on high? Struck his wings the poised rocks as he rushed to the sky? Did the wild goat leap, startled, and press from their hold With his hoof the loose crags?--that they bounded and roll'd Far above, down, and on, soughing, plunging, and clashing, Till they reached the dark Ghyll, and fell, wedging and crashing, In the gulf's horrid jaws, there for ever to lie. The fleet foot of Dagmar sprang light to the stone, Where it bridged the dread gulf, in the twilight, alone. For one moment she stood with her eyes straining o'er Into space, for the bright one that answered no more. He was gone from the hand she stretched, vainly imploring; He was gone from the heart that beat, madly adoring: And a voice from the waters cried wailingly--"Gone." Roar thou on, Dungeon-Ghyll! there was mourning in vain In the fortress of Skelwith for Dagmar the Dane. From their tower on the cliff they looked, tearful and pale, On her riderless steed as it came down the vale. In her bower and in hall there was wailing and sorrow. And the hills shone renewed with each glorious to-morrow. But their bright star, their Dagmar, they knew not again. NOTES TO "SÖLVAR HOW."