'Twas hushed:—One flash, of sombre glare, With yellow tinged the forests brown; Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, And horror chilled each nerve and bone.
Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill; A rising wind began to sing; And louder, louder, louder still, Brought storm and tempest on its wing.
Earth heard the call;—her entrails rend; From yawning rifts, with many a yell, Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend The misbegotten dogs of hell.
What ghastly Huntsman next arose, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; His eye like midnight lightning glows, His steed the swarthy hue of hell.
The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, With many a shriek of helpless woe; Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, And, "Hark away, and holla, ho!"
With wild despair's reverted eye, Close, close behind, he marks the throng, With bloody fangs and eager cry; In frantic fear he scours along.
Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, Till time itself shall have an end; By day, they scour earth's caverned space, At midnight's witching hour, ascend.
This is the horn, and hound, and horse, That oft the lated peasant hears; Appalled, he signs the frequent cross, When the wild din invades his ears.
The wakeful priest oft drops a tear For human pride, for human woe, When, at his midnight mass, he hears The infernal cry of "Holla, ho!"
Bürger's Wilde Jäger. Tr. Walter Scott.