Likewise to-night I make good cheer, Because this battle draweth near: For what have I to lose or fear?-- _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ For, look you, my horse is good to prance A right fair measure in this war-dance, Before the eyes of Philip of France;-- _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ And sometime it may hap, perdie, While my new towers stand up three and three, And my hall gets painted fair to see-- _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._-- That folks may say: "Times change, by the rood, For Lambert, banneret of the wood, Has heaps of food and firewood;-- _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;_-- "And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood Of a damsel of right noble blood:" St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!-- _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._ THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS. Had she come all the way for this, To part at last without a kiss? Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain That her own eyes might see him slain Beside the haystack in the floods? Along the dripping leafless woods, The stirrup touching either shoe, She rode astride as troopers do; With kirtle kilted to her knee, To which the mud splash'd wretchedly; And the wet dripp'd from every tree Upon her head and heavy hair, And on her eyelids broad and fair; The tears and rain ran down her face. By fits and starts they rode apace, And very often was his place Far off from her; he had to ride Ahead, to see what might betide When the road cross'd; and sometimes, when There rose a murmuring from his men, Had to turn back with promises; Ah me! she had but little ease; And often for pure doubt and dread She sobb'd, made giddy in the head By the swift riding; while, for cold, Her slender fingers scarce could hold The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too, She felt the foot within her shoe Against the stirrup: all for this, To part at last without a kiss Beside the haystack in the floods. For when they near'd that old soak'd hay, They saw across the only way That Judas, Godmar, and the three Red running lions dismally Grinn'd from his pennon, under which In one straight line along the ditch, They counted thirty heads. So then, While Robert turn'd round to his men, She saw at once the wretched end, And, stooping down, tried hard to rend Her coif the wrong way from her head, And hid her eyes; while Robert said: "Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one, At Poictiers where we made them run So fast--why, sweet my love, good cheer, The Gascon frontier is so near, Nought after this."