[With ever-increasing passion.
So fair was thy touch on the golden strings
That my breast heaves high and my spirit sings!
I must out, I must out to the sweet green leas!
I die in the Hill-King’s fastnesses!
He mocks at my woe as he clasps his bride
And sails away o’er the waters wide!
[Shrieks.
With me all is over; my hill-prison barred;
Unsunned is the day, and the night all unstarred.