THE DEAD HORSEMAN.
��Occasioned by reading the manner of conveying a young man to burial, in the mountainous region about Vettie's Giel, in Norway.
��WHO'S riding o'er the Giel so fast,
'Mid the crags of Utledale ? He heeds not cold, nor storm, nor blast ;
But his cheek is deadly pale.
A fringe of pearl from his eye-lash long,
Stern Winter's hand hath hung ; And his sinewy arm looks bold and strong,
Though his brow is smooth and young.
O'er his marble forehead, in clusters bright,
Is wreathed his golden hair ; His robe is of linen, long and white, Though a mantle of fur scarce could bide the blight
Of this keen and frosty air.
God speed thee now, thou horseman bold !
For the tempest awakes in wrath ; And thy stony eye is fixed and cold
As the glass of thine icy path.
�� �
