The castellan is gone: I see On one broad yellow flower a bee Drunk with much honey. Christ! again, Some distant knight's voice brings me pain, I thought I had forgot to feel, I never heard the blissful steel These ten years past; year after year, Through all my hopeless sojourn here, No Christian pennon has been near. Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on Over the marshes, battle won, Knights' shouts, and axes hammering; Yea, quicker now the dint and ring Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan, When they come back count man for man, Say whom you miss. THE PAGANS, _from the battlements_. Mahound to aid! Why flee ye so like men dismay'd? THE PAGANS, _from without_. Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot, Who follows quick upon us, hot And shouting with his men-at-arms. SIR GUY. Also the Pagans raise alarms, And ring the bells for fear; at last My prison walls will be well past. SIR LAUNCELOT, _from outside_. Ho! in the name of the Trinity, Let down the drawbridge quick to me, And open doors, that I may see Guy the good knight! THE PAGANS, _from the battlements_. Nay, Launcelot, With mere big words ye win us not. SIR LAUNCELOT. Bid Miles bring up la perriere, And archers clear the vile walls there. Bring back the notches to the ear, Shoot well together! God to aid! These miscreants will be well paid. Hurrah! all goes together; Miles Is good to win my lady's smiles For his good shooting: Launcelot! On knights apace! this game is hot! SIR GUY _sayeth afterwards_. I said, I go to meet her now, And saying so, I felt a blow From some clench'd hand across my brow, And fell down on the sunflowers Just as a hammering smote my ears; After which this I felt in sooth, My bare hands throttling without ruth The hairy-throated castellan; Then a grim fight with those that ran To slay me, while I shouted: God For the Lady Mary! deep I trod That evening in my own red blood; Nevertheless so stiff I stood, That when the knights burst the old wood Of the castle-doors, I was not dead. I kiss the Lady Mary's head, Her lips, and her hair golden red, Because to-day we have been wed. OLD LOVE You must be very old, Sir Giles, I said; he said: Yea, very old! Whereat the mournfullest of smiles Creased his dry skin with many a fold.