56
And his black steed, I trow,.
As it galloped on,
With a hot sulphur halo,
And flame-flash all shone.
From eye and from nostril,
Out gushed the pale flame,
And from its chafed mouth, the
Churned fire-froth came.
They are two! they are two!—
They are coal-black as night,
That now staunchly follow
That grim Baron's flight.
In each lull of the wild blast,
Out breaks their deep yell:
'Tis the slot of the Doomed One
These hounds track so well.
Ho! downward, still downward,
Sheer slopeth his way;
No let hath his progress,
No gate bids him stay.
