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And his freed spirit hasten'd to its rest.
Thro' his fair neck life's franchis'd spirit roves,
Thro' his fair neck and thro' his lovely lips.
Lo! there he lies—the warm blood flies
After his spirit,—but that spirit's fled,
And in the sanguine stream the green grass dips;
The cold earth drinks that rivulet of red.
Sadness o'erpower'd the heart of every maid;
The youth upon the frigid turf lay dead,
And o'er him grew an oak, whose branches spread
Widely around and proudly overhead.
The wild deer with his antlers high
Oft the tall oak tree hastened by,
And stretch'd his graceful neck the leaves among:
Of sparrow-hawks a throng
Came from the neighbouring woods to bide
Upon that oak, and screaming cried—
"The youth beneath a foeman's fury fell,"
And an the maidens wept, the tale remembering well.
