Falume o’ Spain rade furth amain whan the gloamin’s cramasie fell
Tae drink a toast wi’ Bahram’s ghaist in the scarlet laund o’ Hell.
His rowels clasht as swift he dasht alang the flamin skies;
The dayset rade at his bridle braid an the muin wis in his een.
The waws war green wi’ an eery sheen owur the braes o’ Thule
An the ripples beat tae his horse’s feet lik a serpent in a puil.
Oan vampire weengs the shaidae things wheelt roon an roon his heid,
Till he cam at lest tae a keengdom vast in the Laund o’ the Wanrestfu Deid.
Thay thrang aboot in a grisly rout, thay caucht at his siller rein;
“Avant, fool host! Tell Bahram’s ghaist Falume has come frae Spain!”
Than flam-arrayt ris Bahram’s shade: “Whit wad ye hae, Falume?”
“Ho, Bahram wha oan yird I slew wherer Tagus’ watters bung,
Nou tho I shuir yer life o’ yore amid the burnin Wast,
I ride tae Hell tae bid ye tell whaur I micht ride tae rest.
Ma beard is white an blee ma sicht an I wad fain be gane.
Speak wi’oot guile: whaur ligs the isle o’ meestic Avalon?”
“A league ayont the wastern wind, a mile ayont the muin.
Whaur the blee seas rair oan an unco shuir an the driftin starns lig strawn:
The lotus buds thare scentit the wids whaur the quate rivers glim.
An keengs an knichts in the meestic licht the ages drouse an dream.”
Wi’ suddent bund Falume wheelt roon, he fleed throu the fleein wrack
Till he cam tae the laund o’ Spain wi’ the dayset oan his back.
“Nae dreams for me, but leevin free, reid wine an battle’s rair;
I breest the gells an I ride the trails until I ride nae mair.