“Poor knaves! who quake and shake with fear, O’erwhelmed with terror and with shame, The powers of evil lured ye here: Theirs and not yours, the chiefest blame. Hence! fly! be off! your injured lord For this day’s work will pardon give: For him I speak this kindly word:, To-day he knows his children live. Begone, I say! and, as to wrongs, Yours are but small; the fiends beshrew ye. If e’er ye listen to false tongues Which lie about your masters to ye! Be each contented with his lot-- Both rich and poor this world containeth; But let this truth be ne’er forgot-- O’er rich and poor ‘tis God that reigneth; Nor is full happiness e’er given To mortal man this side of heaven.” He spoke, and, as he concluded, the peasants, half frightened and half ashamed, began to steal away by twos and threes at a time, until none of them were left behind. The Baron, who had listened with the utmost attention to the words of the old harper, now stepped forward and tenderly embraced his daughters, after which he clasped his recovered boy to his heart, and vowed that upon that joyous day no one should be punished, and even the treacherous peasants who had invaded his castle should be freely forgiven. The Baroness fell weeping on her husband’s heart, loudly bewailed her own infirmity of temper, and vowed that she would never fly into a passion again. At this the {100}Baron, whilst her face was hidden upon his shoulder, slowly elevated his right hand, placed his forefinger horizontally against the side of his nose, and winked knowingly at his daughters.