None could tell if it were night-time,
Night or day, at even or morn;
No one's eye had seen him enter,
No one's ear had heard the horn.
But bold Hubert lives in glee:
Months and years went smilingly;
With plenty was his table spread,
And bright the lady is who shares his bed.
Likewise he had sons and daughters;
And, as good men do, he sate
At his board by these surrounded,
Flourishing in fair estate.
And while thus in open day
Once he sate, as old books say,
A blast was uttered from the horn,
Where by the castle-gate it hung forlorn,
'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace!
He has come to claim his right:
Ancient castle, woods, and mountains
Hear the challenge with delight.
Hubert! though the blast be blown,
He is helpless and alone:
Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!
And there he may be lodged, and thou be lord!
Speak!--astounded Hubert cannot;
And, if power to speak he had,
All are daunted, all the household
Smitten to the heart and sad.
'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be
Living man it must be he!
Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,
And by a postern-gate he slunk away.
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