By Don Pedro’s myrmidons,
Tightly bound, and quickly hurried
To a dreary castle dungeon
Lighted only by some torches.
Executioners stood ready,
And their bloody chief was with them,
Who, upon his axe while leaning,
Thus with sadden’d look address’d him:
“Now, Grand Master of San Jago,
“Now must thou for death prepare thee;
“Just one quarter of an hour
“Still is left for thee to pray in.”
Don Fredrego then knelt humbly,
And he pray’d with pious calmness,
And then said: “I now have finish’d,”
And received the stroke of death.
In the very selfsame moment
That the head roll’d on the pavement,
Faithful Allan, who had follow’d
All unseen, sprang quickly to it.
With his teeth the head straight seized he
By the long luxuriant tresses,
And with this much valued booty
Shot away with speed of magic.
Agonizing shouts resounded
Everywhere as on he hasten’d,
Through the passages and chambers,
Sometimes upstairs, sometimes downstairs.
Since the banquet of Belshazzar
Never company at table
Was so utterly confounded
As was ours that fill’d this hall then,
When the monstrous creature leapt in,
With the head of Don Fredrego,
Which he with his teeth was dragging
By the dripping bloody tresses.
On the seat which, being destined
For his master, still was empty,
Sprang the dog and like a plaintiff
Held the head before our faces.