Like the whining rush of the hags that ride
To the witches’ sabboth,—­crooned and cried.

And wrapped in his mantle of wind and cloud
The storm-fiend stalked through the forest loud.

When she heard the dead man rattle and groan
As the oak was bent and its leaves were blown,

And the lightning vanished and shimmered his mail,
Through the swirling sweep of the rain and hail,

She seemed to hear him, who seemed to call,—­
“Come hither, Maurine, the wild leaves fall!

“The wild leaves rustle, the wild leaves flee;
Come hither, Maurine, to the hollow tree!

“To the trysting tree, to the tree once green; Come hither, Maurine! come hither, Maurine!” ...

They found her closed in his armored arms—­
Had he claimed his bride on that night of storms?

Morgan le Fay

In dim samite was she bedight,
  And on her hair a hoop of gold,
Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight,
    Was glimmering cold.

With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered;
  With soft red lips she sang a song: 
What knight might gaze upon her face,
    Nor fare along?

For all her looks were full of spells,
  And all her words of sorcery;
And in some way they seemed to say
    “Oh, come with me!

“Oh, come with me! oh, come with me! 
  Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!”—­
How should he know the witch, I trow,
    Morgan le Fay?

How should he know the wily witch,
  With sweet white face and raven hair? 
Who by her art bewitched his heart
    And held him there.

For soul and sense had waxed amort
  To wold and weald, to slade and stream;
And all he heard was her soft word
    As one adream.

And all he saw was her bright eyes,
  And her fair face that held him still;
And wild and wan she led him on
    O’er vale and hill.

Until at last a castle lay
  Beneath the moon, among the trees;
Its Gothic towers old and gray
    With mysteries.

Tall in its hall an hundred knights
  In armor stood with glaive in hand;
The following of some great King,
    Lord of that land.

Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain,
  All Arthur’s knights, and many mo;
But these in battle had been slain
    Long years ago.

But when Morgan with lifted hand
  Moved down the hall, they louted low;
For she was Queen of Shadowland,
    That woman of snow.

Then from Sir Kay she drew away,
  And mocking at him by her side,—­
“Behold, Sir Knights, the knave who slew
    Your King,” she cried.

Then like one man those shadows raised
  Their swords, whereon the moon glanced gray;
And clashing all strode from the wall
    Against Sir Kay.

And on his body, bent and bowed,
  The hundred blades like one blade fell;
While over all rang long and loud
    The mirth of Hell.