O’er the lone mountains riding, He gallop’d by gloomsome ways, Where night-mists were abiding, Round the witch of evil days: Her name is written on the wind, That speaks in cliffs and caves confin’d. List there when the waning moon goes down, And thou’lt hear the call her spirits own; But as they pass, hold a chrystal glass, Or thou’lt sorely rue the wild witch-tone. IV. O’er the lone mountains riding, From a distant land he came, No step his dark step guiding; But he thought he saw a flame, That bright, or dim, would sport awhile; Then vanish, as in very guile; He heard, as he passed, the witch-name sound; And his startled steed, at a single bound, Bore him away from that evil ground. V. But o’er the mountains pacing As fast as he can flee, Strange steps his steps are tracing, And a shape he cannot see; And, though he flee away, so prest, Whether to north, or south or west, Toward the past, or coming day, (So dim the night he may not say) Still oft by fits did ghastly gleam, A corpse-light, all unknown to him. VI. He followed the light o’er deserts wide, Down in deep glens, where wild becks wail; He followed by darkened forest side; He followed with dread, though link’d in mail; Till it stayed before an iron gate, Where battled turrets kept their state, O’er towers so high and massy strong, They seemed to giant-king belong. VII. Sir Adomar looked him all around: Turret on turret hung on high, Shaping black lines on the dim sky; Sir Adomar looked him all around; Nought, save this castle, could he spy, Though, heavily clanged a death-bell’s sound; And in each pause of the shuddering blast, Moans were heard as of one from ’neath the ground! VIII. He struck on the gate with his good sword: “Ho! wardour, ho!” but never a word Return’d the wardour from within. “The storm is loud, the night is dark, I hear from the woods the dog-wolf bark. Up, wardour, up! it were a sin To turn a traveller from your tower, At such a lone and dreary hour; A Saracen would let me in!” IX.