But still the Wildgrave onward rides; Halloo, halloo! and hark again! When spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.
Who was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell.
The right-hand Horseman young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.
He waved his huntsman's cap on high, Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, To match the princely chase, afford?"
"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallowed noise.
"To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain."—
"Away, and sweep the glades along!" The Sable Hunter hoarse replies; "To muttering monks leave matin-song, And bell, and books, and mysteries."
The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, And, launching forward with a bound, "Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, Would leave the jovial horn and hound?"
"Hence, if our manly sport offend! With pious fools go chant and pray: Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend; Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!"
The Wildgrave spurred his courser light, O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; And on the left and on the right, Each Stranger Horseman followed still.