In the dread scale Which princes weighted with their horrid tale Of craft and violence, and blood and ill, And fire and shocking deeds, his sword was still God's counterpoise displayed. Ever alert More evil from the wretched to avert, Those hapless ones who 'neath Heaven's vault at night Raise suppliant hands. His lance loved not the plight Of mouldering in the rack, of no avail, His battle-axe slipped from supporting nail Quite easily; 'twas ill for action base To come so near that he the thing could trace. The steel-clad champion death drops all around As glaciers water. Hero ever found Eviradnus is kinsman of the race Of Amadys of Gaul, and knights of Thrace, He smiles at age. For he who never asked For quarter from mankind--shall he be tasked To beg of Time for mercy? Rather he Would girdle up his loins, like Baldwin be. Aged he is, but of a lineage rare; The least intrepid of the birds that dare Is not the eagle barbed. What matters age, The years but fire him with a holy rage. Though late from Palestine, he is not spent,-- With age he wrestles, firm in his intent. III. IN THE FOREST. If in the woodland traveller there had been That eve, who lost himself, strange sight he'd seen. Quite in the forest's heart a lighted space Arose to view; in that deserted place A lone, abandoned hall with light aglow The long neglect of centuries did show. The castle-towers of Corbus in decay Were girt by weeds and growths that had their way. Couch-grass and ivy, and wild eglantine In subtle scaling warfare all combine. Subject to such attacks three hundred years, The donjon yields, and ruin now appears, E'en as by leprosy the wild boars die, In moat the crumbled battlements now lie; Around the snake-like bramble twists its rings; Freebooter sparrows come on daring wings To perch upon the swivel-gun, nor heed Its murmuring growl when pecking in their greed The mulberries ripe. With insolence the thorn Thrives on the desolation so forlorn. But winter brings revenges; then the Keep Wakes all vindictive from its seeming sleep, Hurls down the heavy rain, night after night, Thanking the season's all-resistless might; And, when the gutters choke, its gargoyles four From granite mouths in anger spit and pour Upon the hated ivy hour by hour.