The Fairy Thorn

Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,

 But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless three —

For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,  

 By whom they dare not look to see.  

They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,  

 And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws;

They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold,  

 But they dare not look to see the cause:  

For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies  

 Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;  

And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes,

 Or their limbs from the cold ground raise,  

Till out of night the earth has roll'd her dewy side,  

 With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;  

When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning-tide,  

 The maidens' trance dissolveth so.

Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,  

 And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain:  

They pin'd away and died within the year and day,  

 And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again.