'Think, here thy fury would destroy
A friendless widow's all!'
He spoke:—the gentle stranger strove
To enforce soft pity's call.
Not so persuades his sullen frere,
But pleas'd with darkest deeds;
Tis his to sway the baron's heart,
Reckless what mercy pleads.
'Away, audacious hound!' he cries;
'Twould do my heart's-blood good,
Might I but see thee transform'd to beasts
Thee and thy beggar brood.
'Then, to the very gates of heaven,
Who dare to say me nay!
With joy I'd hunt the losel fry;
Come fellows, no delay!'
See, far and wide the murderous throng
Deal many a deadly wound;
Mid slaughter'd numbers, see, the hart
Sinks bleeding on the ground.
Yet still he summons all his strength
For one poor effort more,
Staggering he flies; his silver sides
Drop mingled sweat and gore.
And now he seeks a last retreat
Deep in the darkling dell,
Where stands, amidst embowering oaks,
A hermit's holy cell.
E'en here the madly eager train
Rush swift with impious rage,
When, lo! persuasion on his tongue,
Steps forth the reverend sage.
'O cease thy chase! nor thus invade
Religion's free abode;
For know, the tortur'd creature's groans
E'en now have reach'd his god.
'They cry at heaven's high mercy seat,
For vengeance on thy head;
O turn, repentant turn, ere yet
The avenging bolt is sped.'