What rider up Gobeloin's glen
⁠Has spurred his straining steed,
And fast and far from living men
⁠Has passed with maddening speed?

I saw his hoof-prints mark the rock,
⁠When swift he left the plain;
I heard deep down the echoing shock
⁠Re-echo back again.

From cliff to cliff, thro' rock and heath,
⁠That coal-black courser bounds;
Nor heeds the river pent beneath,
⁠Nor marks how fierce it sounds.

With streaming hair, and forehead bare
⁠And mantle waving wide
His master rides; the eagle there
⁠Soars up on every side;

The goats fly by with timid cry,
⁠Their realm rashly won;
They pause—he still ascends on high—
⁠They gaze, but he is gone.