Upon the
top of it sat a man, tall, lusty, and youthful. His hair flowed about
his shoulders, his eyes sparkled with untamed fierceness, and his brow
was marked with the haughty insolence of pride. It was Roderic, lord of
a hundred hills; but Edwin knew him not. The goblin descended from its
eminence, and directed the course of Roderic. In a moment, he seized the
breathless and insensible Imogen, and lifted her to his car. Edwin
beheld the scene with grief and astonishment; his senses were in a
manner overwhelmed with so many successive prodigies. But he did not
long remain inactive; grief and astonishment soon gave way to revenge.
He took his javelin, still red with the blood of the mountain wolf, and
whirled it from his hand. Edwin was skilled to toss the dart; from his
hand it flew unerring to its aim. Forceful it sung along the air; but
the goblin advanced with hasty steps among the clouds. It touched it
with its hand, and it fell harmless and pointless to the ground. During
this action the car of Roderic disappeared. The goblin immediately
vanished; and Edwin was left in solitude.
The storm however had not yet ceased. The rain descended with all its
former fury. The thunder roared with a strong and deafening sound.
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