The Manor Lord

Beside the landsman knelt a dame, And slowly pushed the pages o’er; Still by the hearth-fire’s spending flame She waited, while a hollow roar Came from the chimney, and the breath Of twice seven hounds upon the floor; And, save the old man’s labored moan, The night had no sound more. The fire flickered; with a start The master hound upflung his head; Sudden he whined, when with one spring Each hunter bounded from his bed,— And through rent blind and bolted door All voiceless every creature fled; The blinking watcher closed her book; “Amen, our lord is dead!”

Collection: 
English
George Houghton

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