Le Chevalier Malheur

Grim visor'd cavalier! Rides silently MISCHANCE. Stabbed is my dying heart of his unpitying lance. My poor hearts blood leaps forth, a single crimson jet. The hot sun licks it up where petals pale are wet. Deep shadow seals my sight, one shriek my lips has fed. With a wrung, sullen shudder my poor heart is dead. The cavalier dismounts; and, kneeling on the ground, His finger iron-mailed he thrusts into the wound. Suddenly, at the freezing touch, the iron smart, At once within me bursts a new, a noble heart. Suddenly, as the steel into the wound is pressed, A heart all beautiful and young throbs in my breast. Trembling, incredulous I sat; but ill at ease, As one who, in a holy trance, strange visions sees. While the good cavalier, remounted on his horse, Left me a parting nod as he retook his course, And shouted to me (still I hear his cries): "Once only can the miracle avail.--Be wise!"