See! his crest all stained with rain,
A warrior hastening speeds his way,
He starts, looks round him, starts again,
And sighs for the approach of day. _20
See! his frantic steed he reins,
See! he lifts his hands on high,
Implores a respite to his pains,
From the powers of the sky.—
He seeks an Inn, for faint from toil, _25
Fatigue had bent his lofty form,
To rest his wearied limbs awhile,
Fatigued with wandering and the storm.
… …
Slow the door is opened wide—
With trackless tread a stranger came, _30
His form Majestic, slow his stride,
He sate, nor spake,—nor told his name—
Terror blanched the warrior’s cheek,
Cold sweat from his forehead ran,
In vain his tongue essayed to speak,— _35
At last the stranger thus began:
‘Mortal! thou that saw’st the sprite,
Tell me what I wish to know,
Or come with me before ’tis light,
Where cypress trees and mandrakes grow. _40
‘Fierce the avenging Demon’s ire,
Fiercer than the wintry blast,
Fiercer than the lightning’s fire,
When the hour of twilight’s past’—
The warrior raised his sunken eye. _45
It met the stranger’s sullen scowl,
‘Mortal! Mortal! thou must die,’
In burning letters chilled his soul.
WARRIOR:
Stranger! whoso’er you are,
I feel impelled my tale to tell— _50
Horrors stranger shalt thou hear,
Horrors drear as those of Hell.