It was the bleeding body of the hound,
    Warm, but quite dead.  No other trace of Karl
    Was near at hand; they called his name; in vain
    They sought him in the forest all night through;
    Living or dead, he was not to be found. 
    At break of day they left the fruitless search.

      Next morning, as an anxious village group
    Stood meditating plans what best to do,
    Came little Trudchen, who, in simple tones,
    Said, “Father’s at the forge—­I heard him there
    Working long hours ago; but he is angry. 
    I raised the latch:  he bade me to be gone. 
    What have I done to make him chide me so?”
    And then her bright blue eyes ran o’er with tears. 
    “The child’s been dreaming through this troubled night,”
    Said a kind dame, and drew the child towards her. 
    But the sad answers of the girl were such
    As led them all to seek her father’s forge
    (It lay beyond the village some short span). 
    They forced the door, and there beheld the smith.

      His sinewy frame was drawn to its full height;
    And round his loins a double chain of iron,
    Wrought with true workman skill, was riveted
    Fast to an anvil of enormous weight. 
    He stood as pale and statue-like as death.

      Now let his own words close the hapless tale: 
    “I killed the hound, you know; but not until
    His maddening venom through my veins had passed. 
    I knew full well the death in store for me,
    And would not answer when you called my name;
    But crouched among the brushwood, while I thought
    Over some plan.  I know my giant strength,
    And dare not trust it after reason’s loss. 
    Why!  I might turn and rend whom most I love. 
    I’ve made all fast now.  ’Tis a hideous death. 
    I thought to plunge me in the deep, still pool
    That skirts the forest—­to avoid it; but
    I thought that for the suicide’s poor shift
    I would not throw away my chance of heaven,
    And meeting one who made earth heaven to me. 
    So I came home and forged these chains about me: 
    Full well I know no human hand can rend them,
    And now am safe from harming those I love. 
    Keep off, good friends!  Should God prolong my life,
    Throw me such food as nature may require. 
    Look to my babes.  This you are bound to do;
    For by my deadly grasp on that poor hound,
    How many of you have I saved from death
    Such as I now await?  But hence away! 
    The poison works! these chains must try their strength. 
    My brain’s on fire! with me ’twill soon be night.”

      Too true his words! the brave, great-hearted Karl,
    A raving maniac, battled with his chains
    For three fierce days.  The fourth saw him free;
    For Death’s strong hand had loosed the martyr’s bonds;
    Where his freed spirit soars, who dares to doubt?