Leaden clouds over heaven lowering masses fling.
“Farewell!” the sisters cry—for he must go with speed.
She who is eldest born leads out his splendid steed.
And then the second-born armour brings out to him:
Youngest of all entreats—asks with her eyes tear-dim:
“When, O my brother dear, comest thou back to us?”
“Ah, sister! Of the sand take thou a handful thus....
“Sow on a rock. Each dawn water it with thy tears.
That day the sand springs up—thy brother lost appears!”