 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
168
XXIV.
Fell the uplifted cross once moreFrom the wondering warrior's guard,
As a rushing fierce and a wild roar
Above him in air were heard.
A wight the shrinking mass broke through,
—The mountain peasant Lodowick knew,—
And as he gaz'd the elf upon
He shriek'd and cried—“my son! my son!”—
Chatter'd that hideous goblin foul,
His straggling locks of flame he rent,
Then with a yell like the midnight owl,
And a bound, from out their sight he went!
| The bridal of Vaumond | |