Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/47

 If you give me your page, Johnny,
 * Hound is yours, to-morrow morn.

Why I want him? Oh, a witch knows,
 * Human blood makes flesh newborn.

In the stars I see it written,
 * Johnny’s blood can make me young.

Human blood can make old woman
 * Once more beautiful and young.”

At these words the wretched stripling
 * Felt his heart turn to a stone.

Between fears and hopes he trembles,
 * Kneels upon the grass alone.

Mercy, mercy, O loved master;
 * Listen to my voice, I pray,

And the life of a true servant,
 * Give not for a dog away.”

But his master, only heeding
 * The strong voice within his heart,

Not the pale and tear-stained features,
 * Hardened unto him his heart.

Bring the staghound—bring him, granny,
 * When the day begins to break.

By my faith—without a question—
 * Then my Johnny you can take.”

When the day dawned, at the gateway
 * Stood the foul witch, with the hound.

And Johnny, looking from the casement,
 * Saw his death, and not the hound.

Mercy, mercy, oh my master!
 * Show me mercy—let me live—

Give me not to the foul sorceress;
 * Let me see the sun and live.”

But his master, in his rapture,
 * Deaf is to the stripling’s voice.

Witch and dog he clasps together—
 * Orders then a banquet choice.