Before the Maiden—while her blood

Congeal’d, as she beheld it!

His face was pale, his eyes were wild,

His beard was dark; and near him

A stream of light was seen to glide,

Marking a poniard, crimson-dyed;

The bravest soul might fear him!

His forehead was all gash’d and gor’d—

His vest was black and flowing

His strong hand grasp’d a dagger keen,