Their fore-hoofs flashing and their eyeballs flame,
And, spun a spiral spark into the night,
Hissing the phantasm flies and fades away.
Some say there comes no stage; that Hackelnburg,
Wild-Huntsman of the Harz, comes dark as storm,
With rain and wind and demon dogs of Hell;
The terror of his hunting-horn, an owl,
And the dim deer he hunts, rush on before:
The forests crash, and whirlwinds are the leaves,
And all the skies a-thunder, as he hurls,