Over the bridge when the moon is high
There comes a horseman galloping by,
Like one that has ridden both fast and far,
That bears great tidings of peace or war -
Whither . . . whither . . . ?

Over the bridge he gallops amain,
The sparks from the cobbles they shower like rain,
The arches ring as he thunders o'er,
And into the dark he goes once more -
Whither . . . whither . . . ?

Over the bridge and into the night,
Till the sound is lost of his furious flight,
And nothing is left but the wind that moans,
And the river hastening over its stones -
Whither . . . whither . . . ?