Then mournfully the ransom sent The good frères took once more. And with the captives they had freed Sailed to the English shore. And Earl de Bray's castell they sought, And to fair Agnes told, How that her lover could not be Ransomed for gems or gold. And that the cruel sultan asked,-- Nor meaner thing would take,-- Her own right arm and lily hand, Cut off for her love's sake. A shudder ran through all who heard, Her mother shrieked aloud, Her father, crimsoning, clutched his sword, And death to Moslems vowed. Her little sister to her ran, And clasped her tightly round: "Sure, sister, such a wicked man Cannot on earth be found?" But Agnes smoothed the child's long hair And kissed her, then spoke low, "That cruel is the ransom asked. My dear ones, well I know. {30} "But did not God for ransom give His own beloved Son? And do not churls and nobles give Their lives for king and throne? "Has not my lord and father bled By Coeur de Lion's side? And would he bid his daughter shirk Duty--whate'er betide? "Am I not Hugh de Vere's betrothed, Fast pledged to be his wife? Do not I owe him fealty, Even though it cost my life? "What is my life? Long days and years In vain repining spent, And orisons to God to end My dear love's banishment. "And he _has heard_. At last my prayers Have reached up to God's throne God gives me back my long lost one, Nor leaves me sad and lone. "Only, he asks a sacrifice, A proof my love is pure: For such great gain, a little pain. And shall I not endure?" * * * * * Once more the Sultan Saladin Sat in his royal court, At his right hand stood Hugh de Vere Grave-eyed and full of thought. A herald came. "Sultan, our lord, The Christians' holy men Who come to ransom captive slaves, An audience crave again." The friars came, and, bowing low, They placed before the throne A silver casket richly chased: And spoke in solemn tone. "Monarch, to whom women are slaves, Toys of an idle hour, Learn in a nobler faith than thine Love's purity and power. "The cruel ransom thou didst ask For Hugh de Vere here take, His love's right arm and lily hand "Cut off for her love's sake." {31} Then Hugh de Vere, beside himself, The casket seized, and said, "O cruel monks, why told ye her? I bade ye call me dead. "O fair sweet arm! O dear white hand! Cut off for my poor sake!" And to his breast prest it and sobbed, As if his heart would break. But Saladin the casket oped, And lo! embalmed there lay The fair white arm and lily hand Sent by Agnes de Bray.