4. I have heard of the witches That ride in the dark, And despite hedge and ditches Get into the park; Nim hares from their niches, Without any hitches, And think man-traps and spring-guns a toothless dog's bark. 5. Then lift your head, Robin, Lift it to find Why the bells of old Dobbin Sound on the night wind; Then lift your head, Robin, For my heart is throbbing, About witches and fairies and things of the kind. 6. Lie still, 'tis no fairy That trips the green sod; To hen-coop or dairy No witch takes her road. No, no! 'tis no fairy, Nor anything airy; Lie still and be silent, the _beaks_ are abroad! This very edifying composition seemed to give infinitely greater satisfaction to the generality of the gipsies than the former song had done; and especially in those places where the singer contrived to modulate his voice, so as to change the tone from the male to the female, or from the female to the male, as the words required, the approbation of his hearers was loud and vehement. Pharold alone appeared somewhat gloomy upon the occasion; and were one to look into his breast, which we do not intend to do very deeply on this occasion, one might see a strange and bitter contest between early feelings, habits, and inclinations, and refinements and tastes acquired from the most opposite sources--a state of things so discordant in all their elements, that nothing but an originally wild and eccentric nature could have endured its existence in the same bosom. Some one has said, "_Malheureux celui qui est en avant de son siecle_;" and it certainly might be said, in every class of society, "_Malheureux celui qui est au-dessus de son etat_." Pharold then became gloomy, and felt disgusted at things which amused and interested his companions; nor, perhaps, was his gloom decreased by seeing that the beautiful young companion who leaned beside him was as much pleased and amused as the rest. "I thought that I had taught you to despise such things, Lena," he said in a low tone, and with somewhat of a frowning brow. "Yes, yes," she replied, colouring brightly; "and so I do, when I think; but yet--" She was interrupted by the man named Dickon, who gave a low whistle, and exclaimed at the same time, repeating apart of his companion's song,-- Lift your head, Robin, Lift it and see, Why shakes his bells, Dobbin, Under the tree!