In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d; A fifth, with a rope round his neck, next stepp’d aft:
“There boasted and bragg’d a count, over his wine, “Of his daughter so fair, and his jewels so fine. “What care I, Sir Count, for thy jewels so fine? “Far rather would I that thy daughter were mine!
“’Tis true under bar, lock, and key they both lay, “And the Count many servants retain’d in his pay “What cared I for servants, for bar, lock, or key? “Up the rungs of the ladder I mounted with glee.
“To my mistress’s window I climb’d with good cheer, “Where curses beneath me saluted my ear. “‘Stop, stop, my fine fellow! I too must be there, “I’m likewise in love with the jewels so fair.’
“Thus jested the Count, while he grappled me tight, “His servants came round me with shouts of delight. “‘Pooh, nonsense, you rascals! No robber am I, “I but came for my mistress--’tis really no lie.’
“In vain was my talking, in vain what I said, “They got ready the rope, threw it over my head, “And the sun, when he rose, with amazement extreme “Found me hanging, alas, from the gallows’ high beam!”
“In right merry chorus the spirits then laugh’d; “A sixth, with his head in his hand, next stepp’d aft;
“Love’s torments made me seek the chace; “Rifle in hand, I roam’d apace. “Down from the tree, with hollow scoff, “The raven cried: ‘head off! head off!’
“O, could I only see a dove, “I’d take it home for my sweet love! “Thus thought I, and midst bush and tree “With sportsman’s eye sought carefully.
“What billing’s that? What gentle cooing? “It sounds like turtle doves’ soft wooing. “I stole up slily, cock’d my gun, “And, lo, my own sweet love was one!
“It was indeed my dove, my bride; “A stranger clasp’d her waist with pride. “Old gun, now let thy aim be good!-- “The stranger welter’d in his blood.
“Soon through the wood I had to pass, “With hangmen by my side, alas! “Down from the tree, with bitter scoff, “The raven cried: ‘head-off! head-off!’”
In right merry chorus the spirits then laughed; At length the musician in person stepp’d aft:
“I’ve sung my own song, friends, demurely, “That charming song’s at an end; “When the heart is once broken, why surely “The song may homeward wend!”
Then began the wild laughter still louder to sound, And the pale spectral troop in a circle swept round. From the neighbouring church-tow’r the stroke of “One!” fell, And the spirits rush’d back to their graves with a yell.