My soul with harrowing anguish torn,
This for my Chieftain have I borne!—
The shapes that sought my fearful couch,
A human tongue may ne’er avouch;
No mortal man,—save he, who, bred
Between the living and the dead,
Is gifted beyond nature’s law,—
Had e’er survived to say he saw.
At length the fateful answer came,
In characters of living flame!