As swift the horseman o’er Lake Constance flew
His steed, snow- scattering. The twilight came.
His shadow, dark- blue giant, slowly greyed,
E’en its last violet. ’Twas night anew.
The plain, has it no end? He tries in vain
To see where snow and lake- horizon blur.
Thank God! A distant lamp that twinkling stirs:
The far side must be reached – The ferry’s gained.
The ferryman, shocked, speaks. And he hears straight
Away, but hears another sound: the smash
And pound on ice of thund’ring hooves that crash,
Each leap, a mighty clock’s stroke ’gainst the ...