And the golden knife beneath her pillow
Swift he seized the golden knife,—and drew it—
Drew it, panting, from its silver scabbard;—
It was damp with blood—’twas red and gory!
When the noble Paul saw this, he seized her,—
Seized her by her own bright hand and cursed her:
“Let the curse of God be on thee, sister!
Thou didst murder, too, my favourite courser;
Thou didst murder, too, my noble falcon;
But thou should’st have spared the helpless baby.”