William Harrison Ainsworth

Ephialtes

I ride alone – I ride by night
Through the moonless air on a courser white!
Over the dreaming earth I fly,
Here and there – at my fantasy!
My frame is withered, my visage old,
My locks are froze, and my bones ice cold.
The wolf will howl as I pass his lair,
The ban-dog moan, and the screech-owl stare.
For breath, at my coming, the sleeper strains,
And the freezing current forsakes his veins!
Vainly for pity the wretch may sue –
Merciless Mara no prayers subdue!
			To his couch I flit – 
			 On his breast I sit!
				Astride! astride! astride!
			 And one charm alone –
			– A hollow stone!1 –                      
				Can scare me from his side!
	
A thousand antic shapes I take;	
The stoutest heart at my touch will quake.
The miser dreams of a bug of gold,
Or a ponderous chest on his bosom rolled.
The drunkard groans ’neath a cask of wine;
The reveller swelts ’neath a weighty chine.
The recreant turns, by his foes assailed,
To flee! – but his feet to the ground are nailed.
The goatherd dreams of his mountain-tops,
And, dizzily reeling, downward drops.

The murderer feels at his throat a knife. 
And gasps, as his victim gasped, for life! 
The thief recoils from the scorching brand; 
The mariner drowns in sight of land! 
Thus sinful man have I power to fray,
Torture, and rack, but not to slay! 
But ever the couch of purity, 
With shuddering glance, I hurry by.
			Then mount! away!             
			To horse! I say,
				To horse! astride! astride! 
			The fire-drake shoots – 
			The screech-owl hoots – 
				As through the air I glide!