The Burial Mound

BLANKA.  [Alone.]
  He is gone!  Ah, perfect stillness
  Rules upon the barren strand.
  Perfect stillness, grave-like stillness
  Rules my heart with heavy hand.
  Came he then to vanish only
  Through the mist, a ray of light?
  Soon he flies, a sea-gull lonely,
  Far away into the night!
  What is left me of this lover?
  But a flower in the dark:
  In my loneliness to hover
  Like a petrel round his bark!

[The war trumpet of the Vikings is heard from the left.]

BLANKA. Ah! What was that! A trumpet from the wood!