The Were-Wolf

SHE. Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag?              HE. The strix-owl cried.              SHE.                      Nay! yon wild stream that leaps Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps, A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag. - Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?              HE. The demon-huntsman passed with hooting horn!              SHE. Nay! 't was the blind wind sweeping through the thorn Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top.              HE. My limbs are cold.              SHE.                     Come! warm thee in mine arms.              HE. Mine eyes are weary.              SHE.                      Rest them, love, on mine.              HE. I am athirst.              SHE.              Quench on my lips thy thirst. - O dear belovd, how thy last kiss warms My blood again!              HE.                 Off!... How thy eyeballs shine! Thy face!... thy form!... So do I die accursed!