fondled it the live - long night; They took it from me but to give me pain, And
now, they say that I my child have slain. Gladness I ne'er again shall know.
Then they sing songs about me, - 'tis wicked of the throng An ancient ballad
endeth so; Who bade them thus apply the song?
(throwing himself on the ground)
A lover at thy feet bends low, To loose the bonds of wretchedness and woe.
Oh, let us kneel and move the saints by prayer! Look! look! yon stairs below,
Under the threshold there, Hell's flames are all aglow! Beneath the floor, With