And ere the red moon rushes through the clouds And dives again, high the huge leaders leap, Their fore-hoofs fire, and their eye-balls flame, And, spun a spiral spark into the night, Whistling the phantom flies and fades away. Some say there comes no stage; that Hackelnburg, Wild-huntsman of the Harz, comes dark as storm, With rain and wind and demon dogs of Hell, The terror of his hunting-horn, an owl, And the dim deer he hunts, rush on before; The forests crash, and whirlwinds are the leaves, And all the skies a-thunder, as he hurls Straight on the circle, horse and hounds and stag. And at the last, plutonian-cloaked, there comes, Upon a stallion gaunt and lurid black, The minister of Satan, Sammael, Who greets you, and informs you, and assures. Enough! these wives'-tales told, to what I've seen: To Ammendorf I came; and Rudolf here With Kurt and his assembled men, I met. The abundant year,--like some sweet wife,--a-smile At her brown baby, Autumn, in her arms, Stood 'mid the garnered harvests of her fields Dreaming of days that pass like almoners Scattering their alms in minted gold of flowers; Of nights, that forest all the skies with stars, Wherethrough the moon--bare-bosomed huntress--rides, One cloud before her like a flying fawn. Then I proposed the season's hunt; till eve The test of Rudolf's skill postponed, at which He seemed impatient. And 't was then I heard How he an execrable marksman was; And tales that told of near, incredible shots, That missed their mark; or how his flint-lock oft Flashed harmless powder, while the curious deer Stood staring; as in pity of such aim Bidding him try his marksmanship again. Howbeit, he that day acquitted him Of all this gossip; in that day's long hunt Missing no shot, however rashly made Or distant through the intercepting trees. And the piled, various game brought down of all Good marksmen of Kurt's train had not sufficed, Doubled, nay, trebled, there to match his heap. And marvelling the hunters saw, nor knew How to excuse them. My indulgence giv'n, Some told me that but yesterday old Kurt Had made his daughter weep and Rudolf frown, By vowing end to their betrothéd love, Unless that love developed better aim Against the morrow's test; his ancestors' High fame should not be tarnished. So he railed; And bowed his gray head and sat moodily; But looking up, forgave all when he saw Tears in his daughter's eyes and Rudolf gone Out in the night black with approaching storm. Before this inn, yonder and here, they stood, The holiday village come to view the trial: Fair maidens and their comely mothers with Their sweethearts and their husbands. And I marked Kurt and his daughter here; his florid face All jubilant at Rudolf's great success; Hers, radiant with happiness; for this