If you give me your page, Johnny,
Hound is yours, to-morrow morn.
Why I want him? Oh, a witch knows,
Human blood makes flesh newborn.
In the stars I see it written,
Johnny’s blood can make me young.
Human blood can make old woman
Once more beautiful and young.”
At these words the wretched stripling
Felt his heart turn to a stone.
Between fears and hopes he trembles,
Kneels upon the grass alone.
“Mercy, mercy, O loved master;
Listen to my voice, I pray,
And the life of a true servant,
Give not for a dog away.”
But his master, only heeding
The strong voice within his heart,
Not the pale and tear-stained features,
Hardened unto him his heart.
“Bring the staghound—bring him, granny,
When the day begins to break.
By my faith—without a question—
Then my Johnny you can take.”
PART THIRD.
When the day dawned, at the gateway
Stood the foul witch, with the hound.
And Johnny, looking from the casement,
Saw his death, and not the hound.
“Mercy, mercy, oh my master!
Show me mercy—let me live—
Give me not to the foul sorceress;
Let me see the sun and live.”
But his master, in his rapture,
Deaf is to the stripling’s voice.
Witch and dog he clasps together—
Orders then a banquet choice.
