Ah no, ah no, it is the souls pass by,
Their lot to run from earth to God's high place,
Pursued by each black sin that death let fly
From their sad flesh, to break them in the chase.
They say it is the rain from leaf to leaf
Doth slip and roll into the thirsting ground,
That where the corn is trampled sheaf by sheaf
The heavy sorrow of the storm is found.
Ah no, ah no, it is repentant tears,
By those let fall who make their direful flight,
And drop by drop the anguish of their fears
Comes down around us all the awful night.
They say that in the lightning-flash, and roar
Of clashing clouds, the tempest is about;
And draw their chairs the glowing hearth before,
And casement close to shut the danger out.
Ah no! the doors of Paradise they swing
A moment open for a soul nigh spent,
Then come together till the thunder's ring
Leaves us half blinded by God's element.
Now, the spirit of the young bride was not yet called upon to join their terrible flight, for until her body was laid beneath the clay the soul had power to stay beside it. So stayed the spirit of the young bride by her dead body till her ghostly eyes grew accustomed to the change which had come to her. And when she found she could see the brown earth again and the things thereon, she rose to her feet, and ran down the mountains to the castle of Black Roderick, and there called thrice beside the gate, and for her it was opened by the little brother, who gazed affrighted and ran from her.
"What hath come to thee?" quoth she, and came upon him in his fear.
And he looked not to her, but spake to a knight-at-arms, saying thus:
"Three times cried the voice of my brother's wife at the gates, and when I opened for her there was none outside."
So the little bride, hearing, cried out in her despair, for she had forgotten that she was no longer as these others.