There's two for heaven, and ten for hell,
Let it come—'tis well—'tis well!
Said the Lady Isabelle.
What ails that little cut-tail'd whelp,
That it continues to yelp, yelp?
Yelp, yelp, and it turns its eye
Up to the tree and half to the sky,
Half to the sky and full to the cloud,
And still it whines and barks aloud.
Why I should dread I cannot tell;