black dog, He rose with a fearful cry, “I sold my child to the Devil’s hound In forgotten days gone by.”

p. 14He drew his sword on the little black hound, But it would not pierce its skin, He tried to pray, but his lips were dumb Because of his grievous sin.

p. 14

Then the fair young wife took the black hound’s throat Both her small white hands between. And he thought he saw one of God’s angels Where his sweet young wife had been.

Then he thought he saw from God’s spirit The hound go sore oppressed, But he woke to find his own dead wife With her dead child on her breast.

Quickly he went to the west window, Quickly he went to the east; No help in the desolate pasture fields, Or the stables that held no beast.

He flung himself at his white wife’s side, And the dead lips moved and smiled, Then came somewhere from the lonely room The laugh of a little child.

p. 15THE RAPE OF THE BARON’S WINE

p. 15

Who was stealing the Baron’s wine, Golden sherry and port so old, Precious, I wot, as drops of gold? Lone to-night he came to dine,

Flung himself in his oaken chair, Kicked the hound that whined for bread; “God! the thief shall swing!” he said, Thrust his hand through his ruffled hair.

Bolt and bar and double chain Held secure the cellar door; And the watchman placed before, Kept a faithful watch in vain.

Every day the story came, “Master, come! I hear it drip!” The wine is wet on the robber’s lip, Who the robber, none could name.

All the folk in County Clare Found a task for every day By the Baron’s gate to stray, Came to gossip, stayed to stare.

p. 16Nothing here to satisfy Souls for tragedy awake; Just the castle by the lake, Calmest spot beneath the sky.

p. 16

But the whispered story grew, When the Baron went to dine, That a devil shared his wine, Had his soul in danger too.

Every morn the Baron rose More morose and full of age; Passed the day in sullen rage, Barred his gates on friends or foes.

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