The Saint of the Dragon's Dale: A Fantastical Tale

by William Stearns Davis

Either now obedient bending

Soon afar Maid Agnes sending

Or thou’lt doom-struck lie.”

Then her hands twirled swifter, and now Wolf felt the chills within his marrow.

“Moment, moment, swiftly gliding,

Mortals’ woe or weal deciding,

Never slack’ning nor abiding,—

Thou shalt tell how chance shall fly!”

“Ho, Gerda!” called Fritz, ready to give a thousand bezants (if he had had them) to loose those fetters unseen; “bring out Maid Agnes, and quickly, in Our Lady’s name.”