The confused shifting sort of Eden tale-- Hardihood still recurring, still to fail-- That foreign interloping fiend, this free And native overbrooding deity-- Yet a dire fascination o'er the palms The Kaiser ruined, troubling even the calms Of paradise--or, on the other hand, [Sidenote: Since he apprehends its full extent,] The Pontiff, as the Kaisers understand, One snake-like cursed of God to love the ground, Whose heavy length breaks in the noon profound Some saving tree--which needs the Kaiser, dressed As the dislodging angel of that pest, Yet flames that pest bedropped, flat head, full fold, With coruscating dower of dyes. "Behold The secret, so to speak, and master-spring O' the contest!--which of the two Powers shall bring Men good--perchance the most good--ay, it may Be that!--the question, which best knows the way." And hereupon Count Mainard strutted past Out of San Pietro; never seemed the last Of archers, slingers: and our friend began To recollect strange modes of serving man, Arbalist, catapult, brake, manganel, And more. "This way of theirs may,--who can tell?-- Need perfecting," said he: "let all be solved At once! Taurello 't is, the task devolved On late--confront Taurello!" And at last He did confront him. Scarce an hour had past When forth Sordello came, older by years Than at his entry. Unexampled fears Oppressed him, and he staggered off, blind, mute And deaf, like some fresh-mutilated brute, Into Ferrara--not the empty town That morning witnessed: he went up and down Streets whence the veil had been stripped shred by shred, So that, in place of huddling with their dead Indoors, to answer Salinguerra's ends, Townsfolk make shift to crawl forth, sit like friends With any one. A woman gave him choice Of her two daughters, the infantile voice Or the dimpled knee, for half a chain, his throat Was clasped with; but an archer knew the coat-- Its blue cross and eight lilies,--bade beware One dogging him in concert with the pair Though thrumming on the sleeve that hid his knife. Night set in early, autumn dews were rife, They kindled great fires while the Leaguers' mass Began at every carroch--he must pass Between the kneeling people. Presently The carroch of Verona caught his eye With purple trappings; silently he bent Over its fire, when voices violent Began, "Affirm not whom the youth was like That struck me from the porch, I did not strike Again: I too have chestnut hair; my kin [Sidenote: And would fain have helped some way,] Hate Azzo and stand up for Ecelin. Here, minstrel, drive bad thoughts away! Sing! Take My glove for guerdon!" And for that man's sake He turned: "A song of Eglamor's!"--scarce named,