And my soul called out in prayer,
As I rode,—
Lo! the demon went in air,
Leaving me alone in prayer,
As I rode.
THE WERE-WOLF
She.
Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag?
He.
She.
Nay! yon wild stream that leaps
Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps,
A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag.—
Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?
He.