XVII.
The hours passed on—the storm had spent
The fury to its madness lent,
And wild and sullen clouds on high
In broken masses swept the sky,
As Lennard left the ruined hall,
And, bounding o'er the garden wall,
Walked swiftly o'er the lonely plain,
Till 'neath the blasted pine again
He paused, and blew the whistle low;
Soon from a clump of firs below
An aged servant slowly led
A saddled steed: the pale moon shed
Its fitful gleam as Lennard sprung
Light to his seat, then fearless flung
The bridle loose, and spurring, soon
Drew up beside a deep lagoon,
Whose stagnant waters 'neath the moon
Glimmered through bush and hanging vine,
And cypress bald and ragged pine.
Concealed within the spectral gloom,
Of wide morass and forest tomb,
His comrades there he found;
By many a devious winding led,
Where the pale fire-flies' torches shed
A fitful gleam around,
He paused at length where Huon stood,
Amid his faithful band, though rude,
And thus his errand told:
"Where bends the Santee in the plain
Has Tarleton's troop encamped again,
With careless movement bold;
One half his men will march to-night
To join the troop on Charleston height,
The guard will be both dull and light;
A few short hours, with speed and care,
Must lead us to the station there."