The King was at the service Where was dedicated the church Of Saint John, who to God was dear, And whom the King could so much love: No saint had he so dear except Saint Peter. Lo, a poor man who was there, A stranger and unknown, When he saw King Edward, For the love of Saint John prays him That of his possession he would give him a part. The King who hears his prayer, Puts his hand to his alms-chest, But neither gold nor silver does he there find. He bids his almoner to be summoned, But he was not found for the crowd. The poor man ceases not to beg And the King is in distress Because neither gold nor silver he finds at hand. And he reflects, remains silent, Looks at his hand and remembers That on his finger he had a cherished ring Which was large, royal, and beautiful; To the poor man he gives it for the love Of Saint John, his dear lord; And he takes it with joy, And gently gives him thanks; And when he was possessed of it, He departed and vanished. But to this no one paid attention. Soon after it chanced that Two palmers of English birth, Who go to seek the Holy Sepulchre By a path where no one guides them In the land of Syria, Go astray, far out by the way, See neither man nor house: Now they have arrived in the wilderness, The night comes on, the sun sets; Nor do they know which way to turn, Nor where they can lodge for the night, They fear robbers, they fear wild beasts, They fear monsters and dreadful tempests, And many an adventure of the desert. The dark night surprises them. Now behold a band of youths In a circle which was very large and beautiful, By whom the whole road and air Were lightened as if by lightning, And an old man white and hoary, Brighter than the sun at mid-day, Before whom are carried two tapers, Which lighten the path; He, when he comes close to the palmers Salutes them; says, ‘Dear friends Whence come you? Of what creed Are you, and of what birth? What kingdom and King? What seek you here?’ And one of them answered him, ‘We are Christians, and desire Have we to expiate our sins; We are both from England; We have come to seek the Holy Sepulchre, And the holy places of this country, Where Jesus died and lived. And our King is named Edward, The good prince, whom may God preserve to us, He has not such a saint from here to France. But it has befallen us by mishap We have lost to-day the company Which comforts and which guides us, Nor know we what has become of us.’