He listens for his trusty hounds;
No distant baying reached his ears:
His courser, rooted to the ground,
The quickening spur unmindful bears.
Still dark and darker frown the shades,
Dark, as the darkness of the
grave;
And not a sound the still invades,
Save what a distant torrent gave.
High o'er the sinner's humbled head
At length the solemn silence broke;
And, from a cloud of swarthy red,
The awful voice of thunder spoke :—
Oppressor of creation fair!
Apostate Spirit's hardened tool!
Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor!
The measure of thy cup is full.
"Be chased for ever through the wood,
For ever roam the affrighted wild;
And let thy fate instruct the proud,
God's meanest creature is his child!"
'Twas hushed: one flash, of sombre glare,
With yellow tinged the forests brown;
Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair,
And horror chilled each nerve and bone.
Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill;
A rising wind began to sing;
And louder, louder, louder still,
Brought storm and tempest on its wing.
Earth heard the call;-Her entrails rend;
From yawning rifts, with many a yell,
Mixed with sulphurous flames, ascend
The misbegotten dogs of hell.
What ghastly Huntsman next arose,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
His eye like midnight lightning glows,
His steed the swarthy hue of hell.
The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn,
With many a shriek of helpless woe;
Behind him horse, and hound, and horn,
With "Hark away, and holla, ho!"
SIR W. SCOTT (from the German of Bürger).
The summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet:
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.
Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,
For he had a plentiful last year's store,
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.
At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay:
He bade them to his great barn repair,
And they should have food for the winter there.
Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
The poor folk flocked from far and near;
The great barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.
Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the barn and burnt them all!
"In faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he, "And the country is greatly obliged to me, For ridding it in these times forlorn Of rats that only consume the corn."
So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,
And he slept that night like an innocent man,
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.
In the morning as he entered the hall,
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the rats had eaten it out of the frame!
As he looked there came a man from the farm, He had a countenance white with alarm; "My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn, And the rats had eaten all your corn."
Another came running presently,
And he was as pale as pale could be,
"Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly!" quoth he,
"Ten thousand rats are coming this way—
The Lord forgive you for yesterday!"
"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," said he, "'Tis the safest place in Germany ; The walls are high, and the shores are steep, And the stream is strong, and the water deep."
Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,
And he crossed the Rhine without any delay,
And reached his tower, and barred with care
All the windows, doors, and loopholes there.
He laid him down and closed his eyes,
But soon a scream made him arise;
He started, and saw two eyes of flame
On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.
He listened, and looked; it was only the cat;
But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,
For she sat screaming, mad with fear,
At the army of rats that were drawing near.
For they have swam over the river so deep,
And they have climbed the shores so steep,
And up the tower their way is bent
To do the work for which they were sent.
They are not to be told by the dozen or score,
By thousands they come, and by myriads and more;
Such numbers had never been heard of before,
Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.
Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads he did tell,
As louder and louder drawing near
The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.
And in at the windows, and in at the door
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.
They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop's bones;
They gnawed the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him.
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