---

On the steep fell’s height shone the fair moonlight

And its beams illum’d the dale

And a silvery sheen cloth’d the forest green

Which sigh’d to the moaning gale

From Burnsall’s tower the midnight hour

Had toll’d, and its echo was still

And the elfin band, from faerie land

Was upon Elboton Hill

‘Twas silent all, save the water’s fall

That with never ceasing din

Roar and rush, and foam and gush

In Loupscar’s troubled linn

The Troller, I ween, was a fearless wight

As legends tell, could hear

The night winds rave, in the Knave Knoll cave

Withouten a sign of fear

And whether now are his footsteps bent?

And where is the Troller bound?

To the horrid gill of the limestone hill

To call on the spectral hound

On he passed, o’er dew bent grass

While the sweetest perfumes fell

From the blossoming of the trees which spring

In the depths of that lonely dell

Now before his eyes did the dark gill rise

No moon-ray pierced its gloom

And his steps around did the waters sound

Like a voice from a haunted tomb

And there he stept, a shuddering crept

His frame, scarce known to fear,

For he once did dream, that the sprite of the stream

Had loudly called “Forbear!”

An aged yew in the rough cliffs grew

And under its sombre shade

Did the Troller rest, and with charms unblest

He a magic circle made

Then thrice did he turn where the streamers burn

And thrice did he kiss the ground

And with solemn tone, in that gill so lone

He call’d on the spectral hound

And a burning brand he clasp’d in his hand

And he nam’d a potent spell

For Christian ear it were a sin to hear

And a sin for a bard to tell

The wind swept by, stormy grew the sky

And the torrent louder roar’d

While a hellish flame, o’er the Troller’s frame

From the clefts of the gill was pour’d

And a dreadful thing from the cliff did spring

And its wild bark thill’d around

Its eyes had the glow of the fires below

‘Twas the form of the spectral hound

On Rylstonne’s height glow’d the morning light

And, borne on the mountain air

The priory bell did the peasants tell

Was the chanting of the mating prayer

By peasant men, where the horrid glen

Doth its rugged jaws expand

A corpse was found, where a dark yew frown’d

Seem’d not by mortal hand

In the evening calm a funeral psalm

Stole o’er the woodland scene

The harebells wave on a new-made grave

In Burnsall’s church-yard green

That funeral psalm in the evening calm

Which echo’d the dell around

Over the grave blue harebells wave

The mark of the spectral hound!