Then, as the voice of storms appall’d
The peasant of the Odenwald,[198]
Shuddering he deem’d, that, far on high,
’Twas the wild huntsman rushing by,
Riding the blast with phantom speed,
With cry of hound and tramp of steed,
While his fierce train, as on they flew,
Their horns in savage chorus blew,
Till rock, and tower, and convent round,
Rang to the shrill unearthly sound.