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The youth he chang'd as pale as death,
Few words his anguish. could impel;
'Twixt hope and fear—with stifled breath,
Upon his trembling knees he fell—
"O, gentle master! hear! I pray!
O, listen to mine urgent suit:
Give not thy servant's life away,
His life so precious, for a brute."
But other care, and other thought,
Across his master's bosom fly;
John's pale, cold cheeks he heeded nought,
But turn'd away his careless. eye.
"Give me my hound at morning dawn,"
So to the witch the knight replied,
"And huntsman John shall be thine own—
I swear it—so be satisfied."3.
The morn is blushing thro' the orient gates,
The witch is, with the hound, the castle nigh,
The sleepless youth his wretched sentence waits,
He slept not—but prepar'd his soul to die.
H 5
