Classic Poem

To-night we rode beneath a moon
That made the moorland pale;
And our horses' feet kept well the tune
And our pulses did not fail.

The moon shone clear; the hoar-frost fell,
The world slept, as it seemed;
Sleep held the night, but we rode well,
And as we rode we dreamed.

We dreamed of ghostly horse and hound,
And flight at dead of night; —
The more the fearful thoughts we found,
The more was our delight.

And when we saw the white-owl fly,
With hoot, how woebegone!
We thought to see dead men go by,
And pressed our horses on.

The merrier then was Sylvia's song
Upon the homeward road, —
Oh, whether the way be short or long
Is all in the rider's mood!

And still our pulses kept the tale,
Our gallop kept the tune,
As round and over hill and vale
We rode beneath the moon.