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XI
`Away, away, my steed and I,
Upon the pinions of the wind.
All human dwellings left behind,
We sped like meteors through the sky,
When with its crackling sound the night
Is chequered with the northern light:
Town - village - none were on our track,
But a wild plain of far extent,
And bounded by a forest black;
And, save the scarce seen battlement
On distant heights of some strong hold,
Against the Tartars built of old,
No trace of man. The year before
A Turkish army had marched o`er;
And where the Spahi`s hoof hath trod,
The verdure flies the bloody sod: -
The sky was dull, and dim, and grey,
And a low breeze crept moaning by -
I could have answered with a sigh -
But fast we fled, away, away -
And I could neither sigh nor pray -
And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
Upon the courser`s bristling mane;
But, snorting still with rage and fear,
He flew upon his far career:
At times I almost thought, indeed,
He must have slackened in his speed;
But no - my bound and slender frame
Was nothing to his angry might,
And merely like a spur became:
Each motion which I made to free
My swoln limbs from their agony
Increased his fury and affright:
I tried my voice, - `twas faint and low,
But yet he swerved as from a blow;
And, starting to each accent, sprang
As from a sudden trumpet`s clang:
Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o`er;
And in my tongue the thirst became
A something fierier far than flame.
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