And then, near noon, within a forest brake, The ban-dogs roused a red gigantic stag, Lashed to whose back with gnarly-knotted cords, And borne along like some pale parasite, A man shrieked: tangle-bearded, and his hair A mane of forest-burrs. The man himself, Emaciated and half-naked from The stag's mad flight through headlong rocks and trees, One bleeding bruise, his eyes two holes of fire. For such the law then: when the peasant chased Or slew the dun deer of his tyrant lords, If caught, as punishment the withes and spine Of some strong stag, a gift to him of game Enough till death--death in the antlered herd, Or slow starvation in the haggard hills. Then was the great Duke glad, and forthwith cried To all his hunting-train a rich reward For him who slew the stag and saved the man, But death for him who slew both man and beast. So plunged the hunt after the hurrying slot, A shout and glimmer through the sounding woods,-- Like some wild torrent that the hills have loosed, Death for its goal.--'Twas late; and none had yet Risked that hard shot,--too desperate the risk Beside the poor life and a little gold,-- When this young Kuno, with hot eyes, wherein Hunt and impatience kindled reckless flame, Cried, "Has the dew made wet each powder-pan? Or have we left our marksmanship at home? Here's for its heart! the Fiend direct my ball!"-- And fired into a covert packed with briers, An intertangled wall of matted night, Wherein the eye might vainly strive and strive To pierce one fathom, gaze one foot beyond: But, ha! the huge stag staggered from the brake, Heart-hit, and fell: and that wan wretch, unbound, Rescued, was cared for. Then his grace, the Duke, Charmed with the eagle aim, called Kuno up, And there to him and his forever gave The forest-keepership. But envious tongues Were soon at wag; and whispered went the tale Of how the shot was "free"; and how the balls Used by young Kuno were "free" bullets--which To say is: Lead by magic molded, in The presence and directed of the Fiend. Of some effect these tales, and of some force Even with the Duke, who lent an ear so far As to ordain Kuno's descendants all To proof of skill ere their succession to The father's office. Kurt himself hath shot The silver ring out o' the popinjay's beak-- A good shot he, you see, who would succeed.