At length, with Ellen in a grove He seemed to walk and speak of love;She listened with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high.
He sought her yielded hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet met his grasp:
The phantom's *** was changed and gone, Upon its head a helmet shone;Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darkened cheek and threatening eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar, To Ellen still a likeness bore.--He woke, and, panting with affright, Recalled the vision of the night.
The hearth's decaying brands were red And deep and dusky lustre shed, Half showing, half concealing, all The uncouth trophies of the hall.
Mid those the stranger fixed his eye Where that huge falchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along, Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose and sought the moonshine pure.
