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228 PHANTASTES: |
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I obeyed her, and found myself wonderfully refreshed. Then she drew near the fire an old-fashioned couch that was in the cottage, and making me lie down upon it, sat at my feet, and began to sing. Amazing store of old ballads rippled from her lips, over the pebbles of ancient tunes; and' the voice that sang was sweet as the voice of a tuneful maiden that singeth ever from very fulness of song. The songs were almost all sad, but with a sound of comfort. One I can faintly recall. It was something like this:
Sir Aglovaile through the churchyard rode;
Sing, All alone I lie: Little recked he where'er he yode.
All alone, up in the sky.
Swerved his courser, and plunged with fear;
All alone I lie: His cry might have wakened the dead men near,
All alone, up in the sky.
The very dead that lay at his feet, Lapt in the mouldy winding-sheet.
But he curbed him and spurred him, until he stood Still in his place, like a horse of wood,
With nostrils uplift, and eyes wide and wan; But the sweat in streams from his fetlocks ran.
A ghost grew out of the shadowy air, And sat in the midst of her moony hair.
In her gleamy hair she sat and wept; In the dreamful moon they lay and slept; |
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