III
Now, all the village was early awake,
And, with short space to pray,
Their preparations they did make,
To bear the babes away.
The horses were being buckled in,—
The little ones looked for a ride,—
When on came the Giant, as ugly as Sin,
With a terrible six-yard stride.
Then every woman and every child
To scream aloud began;
Young Harold up at his watch-tower smiled,
And his sword drew every man;
For now the Giant, fierce and big,
Came near to the stile by the green,
But when he saw that luscious pig
His lips grew wet between!
Now, left foot, right foot, step it again,
He trod on——the harrow spikes!
And how he raged and roared with pain
He may describe who likes.
At last he fell, and as he lay
Loud bellowing on the ground,
The stalwart men of the village, they
With drawn swords danced around.
“O spare my life, I you entreat!
I will be a Giant good!
O take out those thorns that prick my feet,
Which now are bathed in blood!”
Then the little village maids did feel
For this Giant so shaggy-haired,
And to their parents they did kneel,
Saying, “Let his life be spared!”
His bleeding wounds the maids did bind;
They framed a litter strong
With all the hurdles they could find;
Six horses drew him along;
And all the way to his castle rude
Up high in the piny rocks,
He promised to be a Giant good—
The cruel, crafty fox!