With the dawn Manoll, awake,
Scaling the enclosure’s bound,
Mounts the scaffold; all around,
Hill and dale, with glance of fear,
Anxious searcheth far and near.
What is this that greets his eyes?
Who is it that hither hies?
’Tis his wife he doth behold,
Sweetest blossom of the wold;
She it is that hasteth here,