A look there was no mistaking,--
A look which the courtiers never saw
Without a sudden desire to draw
Away from the sweep of the lion's paw
Before their bones were aching.

He caught the herald,--'twas by the slack
Of garments below and behind his back,--
Then twirled him round for a minute;
And when at last he let him free,
He shied him at a neighboring tree,
A distance of thirty yards and three,
And lodged him handsomely in it:

Then seized his ponderous battle-axe,
And bade his followers mount their hacks,
With a look on his countenance _so_ stern,
So little of fun, so full of fight,
That, when he came in the Count's full sight,
In something of haste and more of fright,
The Count rode out of the postern;

And crowding leagues from his angry liege,
He left his castle to storm or siege,--
His poor beef-eaters to hold out,
Or save themselves as well as they could,
Or be food for crows: what noble should
Waste thought on such? As a noble would,
He prudently smuggled the gold out.