“Thou com’st to claim my guilty soul—
“The Fiends—the Fiends have sent thee!”
And now a Goatherd-Boy was heard—
Swift climbing up the mountain:
A Kid was lost, the fearful hind—
Had rov’d his truant care to find,
By wood-land’s side—and fountain.
And now a murm’ring throng advanc’d,
And howlings echoed round them:
Now Golfre tried the path to pace,