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48 Countess, delicate and slight, Of the mountain rampart white! May the shaft thy forehead tear; Huntress fierce in glen remote, Face of frown and grief of note!

Spare! Oh, youth, for mercy spare! Leave to me the woodlands—where I am destined by my fate, To endure the agony Of sad penance—and the hate Of all birds beneath the sky! I must suffer in the night Cold and mourning—in the light Fear and wandering and flight!

Bird of wondrous sorrows, thou With the countenance of age, Wilt thou to the bard avow What thy name and lineage?

By the men of noble race, I am called “Unrivalled Face.” At the banquetings of yore, I the name “Flower Aspect” bore; I was daughter of a chief, Proudly through the land of Mon, As the son of Meirchion known, Rich in golden stores—