And every father took his sword
And sharpened it on a stone;
But little Harold said never a word,
Having a plan of his own.
He laid six harrows outside the stile
That led to the village green,
Then on them a little hay did pile,
For the prongs not to be seen.
A toothsome sucking-pig he slew,
And thereby did it lay;
For why? Because young Harold knew
The Giant would pass that way.
Then he went in and said his prayers,—
Not to lie down to sleep;
But at his window up the stairs
A watch all night did keep,
Till the little stars all went pale to bed,
Because the sun was out,
And the sky in the east grew dapple-red,
And the little birds chirped about.
III
Now, all the village was early awake,
And, with short space to pray,
Their preparations they did make,
To bear the babes away.
The horses were being buckled in,—
The little ones looked for a ride,—
When on came the Giant, as ugly as Sin,
With a terrible six-yard stride.
Then every woman and every child
To scream aloud began;
Young Harold up at his watch-tower smiled,
And his sword drew every man;
For now the Giant, fierce and big,
Came near to the stile by the green,
But when he saw that luscious pig
His lips grew wet between!