ROPRECHT THE ROBBER.

PART IV.

PIETER SNOVE was a boor of good renown,
Who dwelt about an hour and a half from the town:
And he, while the people were all in debate,

Went quietly in at the city gate.

For Father Kijf he sought about,
His confessor, till he found him out;
But the Father Confessor wondered to see
The old man, and what his errand might be.

The good Priest did not wonder less
When Pieter said he was come to confess;

Why, Pieter, how can this be so?

I confessed thee some ten days ago !

Thy conscience, methinks, may be well at rest,
An honest man among the best;

I would that all my flock, like thee,

Kept clear accounts with Heaven and me!

Always before, without confusion,
Being sure of easy absolution,

Pieter his little slips had summ'd;

But he hesitated now, and he haw'd, and humm'd.

And something so strange the Father saw
In Pieter's looks, and his hum and his haw,
That he began to doubt it was something more
Than a trifle omitted in last week's score.

At length it came out, that in the affair
Of Roprecht the Robber he had some share;
The Confessor then gave a start in fear

"God grant there have been no witchcraft here!"

Pieter Snoye, who was looking down,

With something between a smile and a frown,

Felt that suspicion move his bile,

And look'd up with more of a frown than a smile.

"Fifty years I, Pieter Snoye,

Have lived in this country, man and boy,
And have always paid the Church her due,
And kept short scores with Heaven and you.

The Devil himself, though Devil he be,
Would not dare impute that sin to me;
He might charge me as well with heresy:
And if he did, here, in this place,
I'd call him liar, and spit in his face! "

The Father, he saw, cast a gracious eye
When he heard him thus the Devil defy;
The wrath, of which he had eased his mind,
Left a comfortable sort of warmth behind,

Like what a cheerful cup will impart,

In a social hour, to an honest man's heart:
And he added, "For all the witchcraft here,
I shall presently make that matter clear.

Though I am, as you very well know, Father Kijf,
A peaceable man, and keep clear of strife,
It's a queerish business that now I've been in;
But I can't say that it's much of a sin.

However, it needs must be confess'd,
And as it will set this people at rest,
To come with it at once was best:
Moreover, if I delayed, I thought

That some might perhaps into trouble be brought.

Under the seal I tell it you,

And you will judge what is best to do,

That no hurt to me and my son may ensue.

No earthly harm have we intended,

And what was ill done, has been well mended.

I and my son Piet Pieterszoon,

Were returning home by the light of the moon,
From this good city of Cologne,

On the night of the execution day;
And hard by the gibbet was our way.

About midnight it was we were passing by,
My son Piet Pieterszoon, and I,

When we heard a moaning as we came near,
Which made us quake at first for fear.

But the moaning was presently heard again,
And we knew it was nothing ghostly then;

'Lord help us, Father!' Piet Pieterszoon said, Roprecht, for certain, is not dead ! '

6

So under the gallows our cart we drive,
And, sure enough, the man was alive;
Because of the irons that he was in,

He was hanging, not by the neck, but the chin.

The reason why things had got thus wrong,
Was, that the rope had been left too long;
The Hangman's fault a clumsy rogue,

He is not fit to hang a dog.

Now Roprecht, as long as the people were there, Never stirr'd hand or foot in the air;

But when at last he was left alone,

By that time so much of his strength was gone, That he could do little more than groan.

Piet and I had been sitting it out,
Till a latish hour, at a christening bout;

And perhaps we were rash, as you may think,
And a little soft or so, for drink.

Father Kijf, we could not bear

To leave him hanging in misery there;

And 't was an act of mercy, I cannot but say, To get him down, and take him away.

And, as you know, all people said

What a goodly end that day he had made;
So we thought for certain, Father Kijf,
That if he were saved he would mend his life.

My son, Piet Pieterszoon, and I,

We took him down, seeing none was nigh;
And we took off his suit of irons with care,
When we got him home, and we hid him there.

The secret, as you may guess, was known
To Alit, my wife, but to her alone;

And never sick man, I dare aver,

Was better tended than he was by her.

Good advice, moreover, as good could be,
He had from Alit my wife, and me;
And no one could promise fairer than he :
So that we and Piet Pieterszoon our son,
Thought that we a very good deed had done.

You may well think we laughed in our sleeve,
At what the people then seem'd to believe;
Queer enough it was to hear them say,
That the Three Kings took Roprecht away.