Oh, Findhorn shrieked loud to warn them away!
But louder yet did the water-fiends yell,
Rebellious they laughed at his empty sway,
As vainly he strove their wild rage to quell.
And the sire’s despairing cry was vain,
“Malvina! my child! oh, turn again!”
But the lovers, twined on the courser grey,
Were swept from his outstretchd eyes away,
And he smote his bosom and tore his hair
As adown the big stream he sought the pair.