'twas near the seventh year, the passing year's last day.
Then came a silent night. At twelve, the newborn Year
Began its halting step . . . Dreams held their nightly sway.
Only the sound of hoofs resounded—clanging clear.
Only my horses' hoofs . . . Toward the town I rode at night,
And paused beneath the mound upon which stood the tent
On which the "Forest Lord" life's ebbing strength had spent.
William's skull I saw, where fell the dim moonlight.
Across the midnight land, far as the eye can fall,
Over the dale and hills, o'er forest, lake and field,
A pall of snow was stretched, its whitness covering all,
It covered the skull and wheel as with a white, cold shield.
The moon, as in a swoon, dragged 'cross the midnight skies,
At times the owl screeched, the night wind madly moaned
And with the wind, the skull rattled and weirdly groaned
Till fear set on my horse and stared into my eyes.
Then with a fervid haste toward the nearest town I sped
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