The Baron drew his poniard forth—
The Maiden sunk upon the earth,
And—“Save me Heav’n!” she utter’d.
“Yes, Heav’n will save thee,” Golfre said,
“Save thee, to be MY bride!”
But while he spoke a beam of light
Shone on her bosom, deathly white,
Then onward seem’d to glide.
And now the Goatherd, on his knees,
With frantic accent cried,