Who rides across the dusky plain
Tearing along wirh might and main
Like some wild storm-fiend, in his flight
Nursed on the ebony breast of Night?
‘Tis he, who left her in her need–
Her lover, on his milk-white steed !

The blast in all its savage force
Strives to o’erthrow the gallant horse
That snorts defiance to his foe
And struggles onward. See! below
The causeway, ‘long the river-side
A thousand flutt’ring flamelets glide!

Now they approach, and now recede,
Still followed by the panting steed;
He nears the ruined cross! A crash,
A piteous cry, a heavy splash,
And in the rocky river-bed
Rider and horse lie crushed and dead.

Then form those dismal depths arise
Blaspheming yells and strident cries
Re-echoing through the murky air.
And, like a serpent form it’s lair,
Brandishing high a blood-stained glaive
The Vampyre rises from his grave!

from the Roumanian of Vasilia Alecsandri


telling the truth.