Sir Roderick true, as he came full in view And espied his adorable lady, Like a cock loudly crew, “Im coming to you!” And a spring towards the battlements made he. LXXVIII. He’d got a siege-train (as I here should explain), And a terrible ram for to batter, Which with might and with main, plied again and again, The walls of the fortress should shatter. LXXIX. Then he shouted his war-cry,--well known in the East,--’ “Cock-a-doodle!” and brandished his pennon, Rushed on to the castle, not fearing the least, But urging his valorous men on. LXXX. The cruel Sir Marmaduke Tracy, meanwhile, Had been taking a quiet siesta, For he’d promised poor Ida, with sinister smile, That day, that he wouldn’t molest her. LXXXI. But, {243}hearing the shock, at the foot of the rock, He came up by the maiden upon it, Of his foeman took stock, and exclaimed, “My young cock, ‘Tis a daring attempt, had you won it!” LXXXII. Fowle, clambering high, could invent no reply; Says Tracy, “Though parleying _you_ shun, Your end is so nigh, let me hope that to die You prepared ere you planned this intrusion.” LXXXIII. Then a vast mass of brickwork he moved on a ledge Just above the unfortunate lover, And with all his great strength pushed it just to the edge Of the turret, then toppled it over. LXXXIV. With a rush and a roar, it went tumbling o’er, With but little less rumble than thunder; Fowle’s chance, small before, what event can restore If that terrible mass he lies under? LXXXV. Then Sir Marmaduke bowed to the maiden quite cowed While her flesh with sheer terror was creeping, And said, “Madam so proud, it must now be allowed, There’s no catching the Tracy a-sleeping.” LXXXVI. “Come near, without dread,” he tauntingly said, “On this ledge I will make by my side room; See, your lover is dead! so we now may be wed, And I’ll make you a capital bridegroom!” LXXXVII. But {244}she looked with disdain, for, that moment, again From the thick cloud of dust just emerging, Fowle stood forth quite plain ‘mid the wounded and slain His heroes to energy urging. LXXXVIII. “False Tracy,” he cried, “from my beautiful bride Avert your detestable gazes, Descend to my side that the fight may be tried!” Says Sir Marmaduke, “Fowle, go to blazes!” LXXXIX. Quoth he, with a sneer, and a laugh and a jeer, “Go home with your battering ram, Fowle; ‘Tis perfectly clear I am better up here, So I think I shall stay where I am, Fowle!” XC.