And Gladys said,
“O, they are rough to mount, those stairs”; but she
Took her and laughed, and up the mighty flight
Shot like a meteor with her.  “There,” said she;
“The light is sweet when one has smelled of graves,
Down in unholy heathen gloom; farewell.” 
She pointed to a gateway, strong and high,
Reared of hewn stones; but, look! in lieu of gate,
There was a glittering cobweb drawn across,
And on the lintel there were writ these words: 
“Ho, every one that cometh, I divide
What hath been from what might be, and the line
Hangeth before thee as a spider’s web;
Yet, wouldst thou enter thou must break the line,
Or else forbear the hill.”

The maiden said,
“So, cobweb, I will break thee.”  And she passed
Among some oak-trees on the farther side,
And waded through the bracken round their bolls,
Until she saw the open, and drew on
Toward the edge o’ the wood, where it was mixed
With pines and heathery places wild and fresh. 
Here she put up a creature, that ran on
Before her, crying, “Tint, tint, tint,” and turned,
Sat up, and stared at her with elfish eyes,
Jabbering of gramarye, one Michael Scott,
The wizard that wonned somewhere underground,
With other talk enough to make one fear
To walk in lonely places.  After passed
A man-at-arms, William of Deloraine;
He shook his head, “An’ if I list to tell,”
Quoth he, “I know, but how it matters not”;
Then crossed himself, and muttered of a clap
Of thunder, and a shape in amice gray,
But still it mouthed at him, and whimpered, “Tint,
Tint, tint.”  “There shall be wild work some day soon,”
Quoth he, “thou limb of darkness:  he will come,
Thy master, push a hand up, catch thee, imp,
And so good Christians shall have peace, perdie.”

Then Gladys was so frightened, that she ran,
And got away, towards a grassy down,
Where sheep and lambs were feeding, with a boy
To tend them.  ’Twas the boy who wears that herb
Called heart’s-ease in his bosom, and he sang
So sweetly to his flock, that she stole on
Nearer to listen.  “O Content, Content,
Give me,” sang he, “thy tender company. 
I feed my flock among the myrtles; all
My lambs are twins, and they have laid them down
Along the slopes of Beulah.  Come, fair love,
From the other side the river, where their harps
Thou hast been helping them to tune.  O come,
And pitch thy tent by mine; let me behold
Thy mouth,—­that even in slumber talks of peace,—­
Thy well-set locks, and dove-like countenance.”

And Gladys hearkened, couched upon the grass,
Till she had rested; then did ask the boy,
For it was afternoon, and she was fain
To reach the shore, “Which is the path, I pray,
That leads one to the water?” But he said,
“Dear lass, I only know the narrow way,
The path that leads one to the golden gate
Across the river.”  So she wandered on;