The call of the watchful sentinel. 
  And a groan at last, like a peal of thunder,
  As the huge old portals rolled asunder,
  And gravely from the castle hall
  Paced forth the white-robed seneschal. 
  He stayed not to ask of what degree
  So fair and famished a knight might be;
  But knowing that all untimely question
  Ruffles the temper, and mars the digestion,
  He laid his hand upon the crupper. 
  And said,—­“You’re just in time for supper.” 
     They led him to the smoking board. 
  And placed him next to the castle’s lord. 
  He looked around with a hurried glance: 
  You may ride from the border to fair Penzance,
  And nowhere, but at Epsom Races,
  Find such a group of ruffian faces,
  As thronged that chamber; some were talking
  Of feats of hunting and of hawking,
  And some were drunk, and some were dreaming,
  And some found pleasure in blaspheming. 
  He thought, as he gazed on the fearful crew,
  That the lamps that burned on the walls burned blue. 
  They brought him a pasty of mighty size,
  To cheer his heart, and to charm his eyes;
  They brought the wine, so rich and old,
  And filled to the brim the cup of gold;
  The knight looked down, and the knight looked up,
  But he carved not the meat, and he drained not the cup.

  “Ho ho,” said his host with angry brow,
      “I wot our guest is fine;
  Our fare is far too coarse, I trow,
      For such nice taste as thine: 
  Yet trust me I have cooked the food,
      And I have filled the can,
  Since I have lived in this old wood,
      For many nobler man.”—­
  “The savory buck and the ancient cask
      To a weary man are sweet;
  But ere he taste, it is fit he ask
      For a blessing on bowl and meat. 
  Let me but pray for a minute’s space,
      And bid me pledge ye then;
  I swear to ye, by our Lady’s grace,
      I shall eat and drink like ten!”

  The lord of the castle in wrath arose,
      He frowned like a fiery dragon;
  Indignantly he blew his nose,
      And overturned the flagon. 
  And, “Away,” quoth he, “with the canting priest. 
  Who comes uncalled to a midnight feast,
  And breathes through a helmet his holy benison,
  To sour my hock, and spoil my venison!”

  That moment all the lights went out;
  And they dragged him forth, that rabble rout,
  With oath, and threat, and foul scurrility,
  And every sort of incivility. 
  They barred the gates:  and the peal of laughter,
  Sudden and shrill that followed after,
  Died off into a dismal tone,
  Like a parting spirit’s painful moan. 
  “I wish,” said Rudolph, as he stood
  On foot in the deep and silent wood;
  “I wish, good Roland, rack and stable
  May be kinder to-night than their master’s table!”