Count Louis’ wavy cock’s plumes led His troops of black-haired manes, A rebel; and old Kraken sped To front him on the plains. XVI Then camp opposed to camp did they Fret earth with panther claws For signal of a bloody day, Each reading from the Laws. XVII ‘Forefend it, heaven!’ Count Louis cried, ‘And let the righteous plead: My country is a willing bride, Was never slave decreed. XVIII ‘Not we for thirst of blood appeal To sword and slaughter curst; We have God’s blessing on our steel, Do we our pleading first.’ XIX Count Louis, soul of chivalry, Put trust in plighted word; By starlight on the broad brown lea, To bar the strife he spurred. XX Across his breast a crimson spot, That in a quiver glowed, The ruddy crested camp-fires shot, As he to darkness rode. XXI He rode while omens called, beware Old Kraken’s pledge of faith! A smile and waving hand in air, And outward flew the wraith. XXII Before pale morn had mixed with gold, His army roared, and chilled, As men who have a woe foretold, And see it red fulfilled. XXIII Away and to his young wife speed, And say that Honour’s dead! Another word she will not need To bow a widow’s head. XXIV Old Kraken roped his white moustache Right, left, for savage glee: —To swing him in his soldier’s sash Were kind for such as he! XXV Old Kraken’s look hard Winter wears When sweeps the wild snow-blast: He had the hug of Arctic bears For captives he held fast. II I Archduchess Anne sat carved in frost, Shut off from priest and spouse. Her lips were locked, her arms were crossed, Her eyes were in her brows. II One hand enclosed a paper scroll, Held as a strangled asp. So may we see the woman’s soul In her dire tempter’s grasp. III Along that scroll Count Louis’ doom Throbbed till the letters flamed. She saw him in his scornful bloom, She saw him chained and shamed. IV Around that scroll Count Louis’ fate Was acted to her stare, And hate in love and love in hate Fought fell to smite or spare. V Between the day that struck her old, And this black star of days, Her heart swung like a storm-bell tolled Above a town ablaze. VI His beauty pressed to intercede, His beauty served him ill. —Not Vengeance, ’tis his rebel’s deed, ’Tis Justice, not our will! VII Yet who had sprung to life’s full force A breast that loveless dried? But who had sapped it at the source, With scarlet to her pride! VIII He brought her waning heart as ’twere New message from the skies. And he betrayed, and left on her The burden of their sighs. IX