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The convent's chanted rite was stay’d, And the hermit dropp'd his beads, And a trembling ran through the forest-shade, At the neigh of the phantom steeds, And the church-bells peal'd to the rocking blast As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass'd.

The storm hath swept with the chase away, There is stillness in the sky, But the mother looks on her son to-day, With a troubled heart and eye, And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care Midst the gleam of her golden hair!

The Rhine flows bright, but its waves ere long Must hear a voice of war, And a clash of spears our hills among, And a trumpet from afar; And the brave on a bloody turf must lie, For the Huntsman hath gone by!