It turn’d his hair to grey.
Then said the maid, “Art not dismay’d?
Here is our course fulfill’d:
Wilt thou not turn, nor rest to burn
With me, as God hath will’d?”
“By Christ His troth!” he swore an oath,
“Thy doom with thee dree I!
Here will we dwell, hand-link’d in hell,
Unseverèd for aye!”
He spurr’d his steed; the gates of dread