Now in the reeds his face looks white As witch-down on a witches' night; Now through the dark old haunted mill, So eerily, so eerily, He flits; and with a whippoorwill Mouth calls, and seems to syllable, "Come follow me! come follow me!" III. Now o'er the sluggish stream he wends, A slim light at his finger-ends; The spotted spawn, the toad hath clomb, Slips oozily, slips oozily; His easy footsteps seem to come-- Like bubble-gaspings of the scum-- Now near to me, now near to me. IV. There by the stagnant pool he stands, A fox-fire lamp in flickering hands; The weeds are slimy to the tread, And mockingly, and mockingly, With slanted eyes and eldritch head He leans above a face long dead,-- The face of me! the face of me! THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN On the black road through the wood As I rode, There the Headless Horseman stood; By the wild pool in the wood, As I rode. From the shadow of an oak, As I rode, Demon steed and rider broke; By the thunder-shattered oak, As I rode. On the waste road through the plain, As I rode, At my back he whirled like rain; On the tempest-blackened plain, As I rode. Four fierce hoofs shod red with fire, As I rode, Woke the wild rocks, dark and dire; Eyes and nostrils streamed with fire, As I rode. On the deep road through the rocks, As I rode, I could reach his horse's locks; Through the echo-hurling rocks, As I rode. And again I looked behind, As I rode,-- Dark as night and swift as wind, Towering, he rode behind, As I rode. On the steep road down the dell, As I rode, In the night I heard a bell, In the village in the dell, As I rode. And my soul called out in prayer, As I rode,-- Lo! the demon went in air, Leaving me alone in prayer, As I rode. THE WERE-WOLF SHE. Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag? HE. The strix-owl cried. SHE. Nay! yon wild stream that leaps Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps, A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag.-- Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop? HE. The demon-huntsman passed with hooting horn! SHE. Nay! 't was the blind wind sweeping through the thorn Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top. HE. My limbs are cold. SHE. Come! warm thee in mine arms. HE. Mine eyes are weary. SHE. Rest them, love, on mine. HE. I am athirst. SHE. Quench on my lips thy thirst.-- O dear beloved, how thy last kiss warms My blood again! HE. Off!... How thy eyeballs shine! Thy face!... thy form!... So do I die accursed! THE TROGLODYTE