No news yet! surely, still he holds his own: That garde stands well; I mind me passing it Some months ago; God grant the walls are strong! I heard some knights say something yestereve, I tried hard to forget: words far apart Struck on my heart something like this; one said: What eh! a Gascon with an English name, Harpdon? then nought, but afterwards: Poictou. As one who answers to a question ask'd, Then carelessly regretful came: No, no. Whereto in answer loud and eagerly, One said: Impossible? Christ, what foul play! And went off angrily; and while thenceforth I hurried gaspingly afraid, I heard: Guesclin; Five thousand men-at-arms; Clisson. My heart misgives me it is all in vain I send these succours; and in good time there Their trumpet sounds: ah! here they are; good knights, God up in Heaven keep you. If they come And find him prisoner, for I can't believe Guesclin will slay him, even though they storm. The last horse turns the corner. God in Heaven! What have I got to thinking of at last! That thief I will not name is with Guesclin, Who loves him for his lands. My love! my love! O, if I lose you after all the past, What shall I do? I cannot bear the noise And light street out there, with this thought alive, Like any curling snake within my brain; Let me just hide my head within these soft Deep cushions, there to try and think it out. [_Lying in the window-seat._ I cannot hear much noise now, and I think That I shall go to sleep: it all sounds dim And faint, and I shall soon forget most things; Yea, almost that I am alive and here; It goes slow, comes slow, like a big mill-wheel On some broad stream, with long green weeds a-sway, And soft and slow it rises and it falls, Still going onward. Lying so, one kiss, And I should be in Avalon asleep, Among the poppies, and the yellow flowers; And they should brush my cheek, my hair being spread Far out among the stems; soft mice and small Eating and creeping all about my feet, Red shod and tired; and the flies should come Creeping o'er my broad eyelids unafraid; And there should be a noise of water going, Clear blue fresh water breaking on the slates, Likewise the flies should creep: God's eyes! God help! A trumpet? I will run fast, leap adown The slippery sea-stairs, where the crabs fight. Ah! I was half dreaming, but the trumpet's true; He stops here at our house. The Clisson arms? Ah, now for news. But I must hold my heart, And be quite gentle till he is gone out; And afterwards: but he is still alive, He must be still alive. _Enter a_ Squire _of_ Clisson's.