With a terrible resounding,
That shook hill and dale,
Back into the old well’s darkness,
While its voice did wail:
“John, John, sacrificed John.”
PART SECOND.
With a dark scowl on his forehead,
Homeward rides the Checkish lord.
By his side, the staghounds leading,
Follows John, page to my lord.
Like a thundercloud his forehead,
And his eyes with anger burn;
For his dearest dog is missing,
And he knows not where to turn.
Three whole days they have been searching
Wood, and field, and everywhere.
Useless is their toil and seeking,
And their looking everywhere.
Sadly, with their faces troubled,
Back they turn them to their home,
While their lord with bosom swelling,
Sighs, “My dog, where do you roam?”
On the road there stands a granny,
Leaning on her crutches two.
See! her head is like an owl’s head,
And she has but one eye, too;
Humpbacked, all her face a wrinkle—
And her hands but skin and bone;
Voice—why like a rook in cawing
Is the harsh and gutteral tone.
“Stop your charger! Stop your people!
Listen to my words, I say.
Wherefore do you search the forests
And the meadows all the day?
I can tell you of your staghound,
Of the fleet one that you love,
But I must be paid to do it;
I am seeking gain—not love.
