Though red my blood hath left its trail For five far miles, I shall not fail, As God in Heaven wills!— The way was long through that black land.
With sword on hip and horn in hand, At last before thy walls I stand, O Lady of the Hills! No seneschal shall put to scorn
The summons of my bugle-horn! No man-at-arms shall stay!— Yea! God hath helped my strength too far By bandit-caverned wood and scar
To give it pause now, or to bar My all-avenging way. This hope still gives my body strength — To kiss her eyes and lips at length
Where all her kin can see; Then‘ mid her towers of crime and gloom, Sin-haunted like the Halls of Doom, To smite her dead in that wild room
Red-lit with revelry. Madly I rode; nor once did slack. Before my face the world rolled, black With nightmare wind and rain.
Witch-lights mocked at me on the fen; And through the forest followed then Gaunt eyes of wolves; and ghosts of men Moaned by me on the plain.
Still on I rode. My way was clear From that wild time when, spear to spear, Deep in the wind-torn wood, I met him!... Dead he lies beneath
Their trysting oak. I clenched my teeth And rode. My wound scarce let me breathe, That filled my eyes with blood. And here I am. The blood may blind
My eyesight now... yet I shall find Her by some inner eye! For God — He hath this deed in care!— Yea! I shall kiss again her hair,
And tell her of her leman there, Then smite her dead — and die.
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