Did ye but mark, when from that thunder stroke
He led this host of spectres to their homes,
What gloomy sadness darkened o'er his brow?
The worm of pain unwound him from his cheek.
And Konrad suffered; but look on his eyes!
That large half-open eye, bright shining throws
Its darts aslant, like comet threatening war;
Each moment changing, like the gleams of night.
Whereby the wily demon travellers lures.
Uniting joy and rabid rage in one.
It shone as with a right Satanic glance.
Trembled the folk and murmured. Konrad cared
not.
He called to council the unwilling knights.
Looked on them, spoke, and beckoned. O disgrace!
They hear attentive, and believe his words.
They view Heaven's judgments in the faults of man;
For whom of humankind persuades not—anguish.
Tarry, proud ruler! Judgment waits even thee!
In Malborg is a dungeon underground.
There, when the night in darkness wraps the town,
The secret tribunal descends to council.[1]
