Still onward and leeward, at last he came
To the edge of Harlow Dale;
From his cave[112] the Lathkil a warning roared,
But louder then howled the gale.
On the brink of Fox Torr the doomed man stood,
And tugged the bridle in vain;
His horse would not move—then quick started back,
And, snap, went each bridle-rein!
Then headlong fell he o'er the lofty cliff,
He shrieked, and sank in the gloom;
Down—down to the bottom he swiftly sped,
And death was his dreadful doom.
The dead man lay cold on the blood-stained rocks—
The darkness did him enshroud;—
And the owls high up in the ivy-clad Torr,
Bewailed him all night full loud.
O little thought they in the old thatched cot,
Hard by the Parsonage gate;
Their master they never again should see,
Nor ope to him soon nor late!
"This night is no better than last," quoth Hugh,
"And master has not come back;
I hope he is hale and safe housed with friends,
And has of good cheer no lack."
Quoth Betty, "I liked not his morning ride—
I fear he's in evil plight—
A Friday's venture's, no luck! I've heard say,
God help him if out this night."
At dawn of next day, old Betty went forth
To milk the cow in the shed;—
And saw him sitting upon a large stone,
All pale, and mute—with bare head.
But a moment she turned her eyes away,
A fall she heard and a groan;
She looked again, but, no Parson was there,
He'd vanished from off the stone!
Soon spread the dread tale through Monyash town—
They made a great hue and cry;
And some off to this place—and some to that,
To seek the lost man did hie.