And straight Minona clothes in it her limbs, And soaring upward through the ether swims: To moan and sob, her madden'd breast disdains, Too big for such low comfort are its pains. The fowls that meet her in yon airy fields, She clips in pieces with an axe she wields; Each clanging pinion ceaselessly she plies, But cannot meet the raven or his prize. She hears a faint shriek in the air below, And, swift as eagle pounces on his foe, Down, down, she dropp'd, and lighted on the shore, Which far and wide was wet with Harrald's gore. She smil'd so ruefully, but still was mute-- His good right hand was lying at her foot: That pledge of truth, in love's unclouded day, Was the sole remnant of the demon's prey. Deep in her breast she hid the bloody hand, And bade adieu, for ever, to the land: Again she scower'd through the airy path, Her eyeballs terrible with madden'd wrath: The raven-sorcerer at length she spied, And soon her steel was with his hot blood dyed: The huge black body, piecemeal, found a grave Amid the bosom of the briny wave. The ocean billows fret and foam no more, But softly rush towards the pebbled shore, On which the lindens stand, in many a group, With leafy boughs that o'er the waters droop. There floats one single cloudlet in the blue, Close where the pale moon shows her face anew: It is Minona dying there that flies,-- She sinks not!--no--she mounts unto the skies. FRIDLEIF AND HELGA. FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. The woods were in leaf, and they cast a sweet shade; Among them walk'd Helga, the beautiful maid. The water is dashing o'er yon little stones; She sat down beside it, and rested her bones. She sat down, and soon, from a bush that was near, Sir Fridleif approach'd her with sword and with spear: "Ah, pity me, Helga, and fly me not now, I live, only live, on the smile of thy brow: "In thy father's whole garden is found not a rose, Which bright as thyself, and as beautiful grows." "Sir Fridleif, thy words are but meant to deceive, Yet tell me what brings thee so late here at eve." "I cannot find rest, and I cannot find ease, Though sweet sing the linnets among the wild trees; "If thou wilt but promise, one day to be mine, No more shall I sorrow, no more shall I pine." She sank in his arms, and her cheeks were as red As the sun when he sinks in his watery bed; But soon she arose from his loving embrace; He walk'd by her side, through the wood, for a space. "Now listen, young Fridleif, the gallant and bold, Take off from my finger this ring of red gold, Take off from my finger this ring of red gold, And part with it not, till in death thou art cold." Sir Fridleif stood there in a sorrowful plight, Salt tears wet his eyeballs, and blinded his sight. "Go home, and I'll come to thy father with speed, And claim thee from him, on my mighty grey steed." Sir Fridleif, at night, through the thick forest rode, He fain would arrive at his lov'd one's abode;