I'll go to bed and sleep!'
The Rodenstein in grimmest scorn
Glared o'er his horse's mane;
Then thrice he blew his hunting horn
With thundering refrain:
'Rouse there! rouse out o' th' house, there!
Rouse out your runaway!
That lame, tame guest, ye cursed crew,
Belongs to me, I say.'
A shudder swept across that guest