II
Now, when to the village came Harold back
And told his tale so wild,
Then every mother she cried, “Good lack!
My child! preserve my child!”
And every father took his sword
And sharpened it on a stone;
But little Harold said never a word,
Having a plan of his own.
He laid six harrows outside the stile
That led to the village green,
Then on them a little hay did pile,
For the prongs not to be seen.
A toothsome sucking-pig he slew,
And thereby did it lay;
For why? Because young Harold knew
The Giant would pass that way.
Then he went in and said his prayers,—
Not to lie down to sleep;
But at his window up the stairs
A watch all night did keep,
Till the little stars all went pale to bed,
Because the sun was out,
And the sky in the east grew dapple-red,
And the little birds chirped about.