STANZAS.
107
"Ah! Wherefore, maiden, sit you so,
"The cold wind raving round your breast,
"While in the villages below
"All are retired to rest?
"The fires are out, no lights appear
"But the red flames of burning lime,
"None but the Horseman's ghost is here
"At this pale evening time."
With wild yet vacant eye, the maid
Gazed on me, and a mournful smile
On her wan sunken features play'd
As thus she spoke the while:
"Yes, to their beds my friends are gone,
"They have no grief; they slumber soon;
"But 'tis for me to wait alone
"To meet the midnight Moon.
