Left him by no means at his ease. Once more he weltered in despair, With hands, through denser-matted hair, More tightly clenched than then they were. When, bathed in Dawn of living red, Majestic frowned the mountain head, "Tell me my fault," was all he said. When, at high Noon, the blazing sky Scorched in his head each haggard eye, Then keenest rose his weary cry. And when at Eve the unpitying sun Smiled grimly on the solemn fun, "Alack," he sighed, "what HAVE I done?" But saddest, darkest was the sight, When the cold grasp of leaden Night Dashed him to earth, and held him tight. Tortured, unaided, and alone, Thunders were silence to his groan, Bagpipes sweet music to its tone: "What? Ever thus, in dismal round, Shall Pain and Mystery profound Pursue me like a sleepless hound, "With crimson-dashed and eager jaws, Me, still in ignorance of the cause, Unknowing what I broke of laws?" The whisper to his ear did seem Like echoed flow of silent stream, Or shadow of forgotten dream, The whisper trembling in the wind: "Her fate with thine was intertwined," So spake it in his inner mind: "Each orbed on each a baleful star: Each proved the other's blight and bar: Each unto each were best, most far: "Yea, each to each was worse than foe: Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low,