And now her feet ran swift beside those of Harun.
Then before them, tawny, steep, the Rothenstein reared clearly, and in front a thin, grey vapor of rising smoke. Whereat Witch Martha halted, and her finger warned Harun that he lag behind. Soon this was the song which Fritz the Masterless and Wolf heard whilst they placed the kettle before the cave. At first they thought only the trees were crooning; then that the thrushes talked. Then their stout knees knocked together, and they began to mutter a prayer to good Saint Anne.
“I have come down the moonbeam’s path soft veering,—
Forth! forth,—from your bat-black den!—
On the wings of the night-doves silent steering,—
Swift! swift,—ere I call again!
Oh, woe to the peasant,—oh, woe to the knight!
To the lad or the lass who my summons may slight.
“I have tethered my car with the spider’s glister,—
Forth! forth,—for my weirds are fleet!—