THE LADY OF THE HILLS.

Though red my blood hath left its trail

For five far miles, I shall not fail,

As God in Heaven wills!—

The way was long through that black land.

With sword on hip and horn in hand,

At last before thy walls I stand,

O Lady of the Hills!

No seneschal shall put to scorn

The summons of my bugle-horn!

No man-at-arms shall stay!—

Yea! God hath helped my strength too far

By bandit-caverned wood and scar

To give it pause now, or to bar

My all-avenging way.

This hope still gives my body strength —

To kiss her eyes and lips at length

Where all her kin can see;

Then‘ mid her towers of crime and gloom,

Sin-haunted like the Halls of Doom,

To smite her dead in that wild room

Red-lit with revelry.

Madly I rode; nor once did slack.

Before my face the world rolled, black

With nightmare wind and rain.

Witch-lights mocked at me on the fen;

And through the forest followed then

Gaunt eyes of wolves; and ghosts of men

Moaned by me on the plain.

Still on I rode. My way was clear

From that wild time when, spear to spear,

Deep in the wind-torn wood,

I met him!... Dead he lies beneath

Their trysting oak. I clenched my teeth

And rode. My wound scarce let me breathe,

That filled my eyes with blood.

And here I am. The blood may blind

My eyesight now... yet I shall find

Her by some inner eye!

For God — He hath this deed in care!—

Yea! I shall kiss again her hair,

And tell her of her leman there,

Then smite her dead — and die.