Gerd.
With whirring wings I hear him come!
I’ll e’en make shift to get me home!
In yonder church I’m safe,—farewell;
He’s on me,—hoo, how fierce and fell!
[She screams.]
I’ll throw a stone! No nearer, now.
If thou hast talons, I’ve a bough!
[She runs off up the mountain.
Brand.