THE GREY RIDER

Why ride so fast through the wind and rain,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

Lest a soul should call for me in vain

To-night, O Vanathee.

Now, whose is the soul shall seek thine aid,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

The soul of one that is sore afraid

To-night, O Vanathee.

O fears he the flurry of wind and rain,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

More deep is the dread that sears his brain

To-night, O Vanathee.

Does he fear the tumult of clanging blows,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

Nay, darker still is the fear he knows

To-night, O Vanathee.

Does he fear the loss of wife or child,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

Nay, a terror holds him that's still more wild

To-night, O Vanathee.

O what should make him so sore afraid,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

He fears a wraith that himself has made

To-night, O Vanathee.

Then how shall you cleanse from fear his mind,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

I will touch his eyes, and they shall be blind

To-night, O Vanathee.

Yet still may he know the voice of fear,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

I will touch his ears that he shall not hear

To-night, O Vanathee.

Yet that wraith may linger around his bed,

Grey Rider of the Shee?

No terror shall touch the quiet dead

To-night, O Vanathee.