But hist! the moor-cock crows fu’ shrill
Alang the dreary way,
An’ goblin, elf, nor wand’ring ghaist
Can face the light o’ day.
The phantom steed doth champ his bit
An’ flash his fiery eye—
An’ away they speed o’er hill an’ dale—
O’er rock an’ mountain high!
Lang years hae passed since Sir Hildebrande came
Frae the fields o’ Palestine,