The Blacksmith of Ragenbach.
When a cry rung through the welkin, And appeared upon the scene A panting dog, with crest erect, Foaming mouth, and savage mien. “He is mad!” was shrieked in chorus. In dismay they all fell back,— All except one towering figure,— ’Twas the smith of Ragenbach.
God had given this man his image; Nature stamped him as complete. Now it was incumbent on him To perform a greater feat Than Horatius at the bridge, When he stood on Tiber’s bank; For behind him were his townsfolk, Who, appalled with terror, shrank
