Aloft the caitiff bears away

With outspread wings his gorgeous prey!

How meteor-like the tresses gleam,

As through the murky heavens they stream!

And falling down, where’er he flew,

Give to the corn its golden hue!

Where’er he flew, down fell the hair

In flakes, and tinged with colour fair

The peasant-maidens’ locks, who dwell

On Hertha’s isle or Guldbrand’s dale.