“Open! or the door itself I
Down upon thy floor will throw.”
Hearing this, the ancient hermit
Sprang from off his lowly bed,
Lit in haste a torch of resin,
And forthwith to open sped.
Opens, but recoils with horror,
Back recoils with horror dread:
Lez-Breiz’ spectre slowly enters,
Bearing in both hands his head.
Of his eyes the hollow sockets
Gleam with fierce and fiery light,
Wildly rolling; pale, the hermit
Trembles at the fearful sight.
“Silence! then, old Christian, fear not,
Since ‘tis highest Heaven’s decree
That the Franks should take my head off
For a time: so let it be.
“Me have they decapitated.
But to thee, behold, ‘tis given