Her raven tresses all unbound,
That flashing out, and hidden now,
Waved darkly on each snowy shoulder,—
As springing from the mountain’s brow,
Eager and wild that one to know,
The hunter hurried to behold her.
On, on the beauteous phantom glides
Beneath the sombre, giant pines
That stud the steep and rugged sides
Of pendant cliffs, and deep ravines;