kept on the road at that turn, he would be safe in sight of the lights of the town.
Butler winced fearfully as the ear rocked over an unevenness of the road. The dark arch of the gateway seemed to draw his eyes toward it, like a magnet.
"We are here!" the passenger cried, rising in his seat.
The wheel twisted in the driver's hands, and the long-backed car careened and banked sharply. Then it plunged toward the cemetery, where the white gravestones stood waiting, row after row, like ghosts, to welcome his arrival.
One side of the stone entrance leapt up before the car. And at the moment of the crash that sounded to the sky, there was a wild, triumphant burst of laughter, either from the mad passenger—or the dead who were waiting.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
By John Keats.
(Reprint)
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so wobegone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light.
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found we roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true!"
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
So kissed to sleep.
And there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed, ah! wo betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too.
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried—"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
