And a shuddering fear thrilled through my veins
As I listened the night-wind's tone;
And as it sighed in my unbound hair,
I smothered a whispered moan.
But the vision that rose in the yellow air
Held my shuddering senses still;
I could not speak, or breathe, or stir,
But a damp and deathly chill
Bound with its icy grasp my heart,
That it could not even thrill.
A ghostly form, with silver hair
Flowing down to his feet,
And a face so dark, and withered, and wild,
And eyes that I dared not meet—
So stony and cold they looked on me
From brows as white as sleet.
"Shall I show thee life?" he spoke at length,
But I answered not for fear;
And a mocking smile played on his face,
So withered, and wild, and sere;
And I closed my eyes for a moment, till
That look should disappear.
But when I looked, in its wonted tide
My blood flowed fast and free;
And almost without knowing why
I laughed in my careless glee;
And naught at all of the strange old man
Could my happy vision see.
I seemed to stand on that moonlit bank
With a form on either side,
Of friends I had known in girlhood's days
Ere either the world had tried—
Of a girl in her earliest loveliness,
And a boy in youth's first pride.
