Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/180

 The whirlwind is howling—the night it is dark— The mountains like giants frown down on the scene. The hall from whose windows a flickering light shines, Is the only shelter for miles to be seen. The whirlwind is raging through turrets and eaves, It shrieks by the windows, it howls at the door. Near by in the forest the trees creak and moan, As the wind rushes through, with terrible roar. “God be with the stranger that wanders to-night, Amidst our wild mountains,” the servant said low, And lit the red light at the Crucifix’s feet. “God bless us, and keep us, and save us from woe.” There’s a knock at the door—the servant turns pale, And crosses himself, ere he opens the gate. Two strangers are standing, he sees their long robes, And blesses himself, and the strangers that wait. “In the name of the Lord, whose servants we are, We beseech thee, shelter us but for to-night. Our way we have lost, and the tempest is great, Let us stay here, I pray thee, till the dawn’s light.” The servant bows. “Reverend fathers,” he said,