And, as far down on the lake it streams,
Three spirits cross its path.
(God shield us from their wrath!)
By blackest art they’ve laid to sleep
The warder ’neath the deep black lake,
There too they’ve made the ban-dog keep
His lone watch, lest the warder wake;
The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright,
They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might.
For such foul arts of gramarye,