"Behold the rhymes that from him came His passion to confess"-- "Confess!"--"And for an answering flame,-- The impious knave!--to press. My gracious lady, soft and meek, Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak; That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue; What, lord, canst thou to help it do?" Into the neighboring wood then rode The Count, inflamed with wrath, Where, in his iron foundry, glowed The ore, and bubbled forth. The workmen here, with busy hand, The fire both late and early fanned. The sparks fly out, the bellows ply, As if the rock to liquefy. The fire and water's might twofold Are here united found; The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold, Is whirling round and round; The works are clattering night and day, With measured stroke the hammers play, And, yielding to the mighty blows, The very iron plastic grows. Then to two workmen beckons he, And speaks thus in his ire; "The first who's hither sent by me Thus of ye to inquire 'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?' Him cast ye into yonder hell, That into ashes he may fly, And ne'er again torment mine eye!" The inhuman pair were overjoyed, With devilish glee possessed For as the iron, feeling void, Their heart was in their breast, And brisker with the bellows' blast, The foundry's womb now heat they fast, And with a murderous mind prepare To offer up the victim there. Then Robert to his comrade spake, With false hypocrisy: "Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make! Our lord has need of thee." The lord to Fridolin then said: "The pathway toward the foundry tread, And of the workmen there inquire, If they have done their lord's desire." The other answered, "Be it so!" But o'er him came this thought, When he was all-prepared to go, "Will she command me aught?" So to the Countess straight he went: "I'm to the iron-foundry sent; Then say, can I do aught for thee? For thou 'tis who commandest me." To this the Lady of Savern Replied in gentle tone: "To hear the holy mass I yearn, For sick now lies my son; So go, my child, and when thou'rt there, Utter for me a humble prayer, And of thy sins think ruefully, That grace may also fall on me." And in this welcome duty glad, He quickly left the place; But ere the village bounds he had Attained with rapid pace, The sound of bells struck on his ear, From the high belfry ringing clear, And every sinner, mercy-sent, Inviting to the sacrament. "Never from praising God refrain Where'er by thee He's found!" He spoke, and stepped into the fane, But there he heard no sound; For 'twas the harvest time, and now Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow; No choristers were gathered there, The duties of the mass to share.