hath broken under her grief. Therefore do I draw her down.’
And the voice from high Paradise called out, saying:
‘Is there none, then, to save her from eternal destruction?’
And a wild bramble upon the mountain, hearing the voice, lifted itself upward, and, throwing a long spray about the evil bird, tore it so with its thorns that it loosed its claws from the wrist of the young bride and flew into the gloom.
And the voice from the heavens cried again, saying:
‘Who hath let the soul go free?’
And the bramble answered, wafting the perfume of her flowers upward:
‘Her sweetness, for her mind is beautiful as the song of the linnet, and she turneth her foot aside to spare the lowly blossoms.’
Now, when once more the spirit of the little bride flew upward, the last and greatest of the evil birds fell upon her, and so strong was he and so evil that she had no strength to go further.
