I

Far in the forest, where the rude road winds Through twisted briers and weeds, stamped down and caked With mountain mire, the clashing boughs are raked Again with rain whose sobbing frenzy blinds.

There is a noise of winds; a gasp and gulp Of swollen torrents; and the sodden smell Of woodland soil, dead trees--that long since fell Among the moss--red-rotted into pulp.

Fogged by the rain, far up the mountain glen, Deep in a cave, an elfish wisp of light; And stealthy shadows stealing through the night With strong, set faces of determined men.