No wonder if these barbarous men Were slain by hundreds to each ten Of the King's brave well-armoured folk, No wonder if their charges broke To nothing, on the walls of steel, And back the baffled hordes must reel. So stood throughout a summer day Scarce touched the King's most fair array, Yet as it drew to even-tide The foe still surged on every side, As hopeless hunger-bitten men, About his folk grown wearied then. Therewith the King beheld that crowd Howling and dusk, and cried aloud, "What do ye, warriors? and how long Shall weak folk hold in check the strong? Nay, forward banners! end the day And show these folk how brave men play." The young knights shouted at his word, But the old folk in terror heard The shouting run adown the line, And saw men flush as if with wine-- "O Sire," they said, "the day is sure, Nor will these folk the night endure Beset with misery and fears." Alas I they spoke to heedless ears; For scarce one look on them he cast But forward through the ranks he passed, And cried out, "Who will follow me To win a fruitful victory?" And toward the foe in haste he spurred, And at his back their shouts he heard, Such shouts as he ne'er heard again. They met--ere moonrise all the plain Was filled by men in hurrying flight The relics of that shameful fight; The close array, the full-armed men, The ancient fame availed not then, The dark night only was a friend To bring that slaughter to an end; And surely there the King had died. But driven by that back-rushing tide Against his will he needs must flee; And as he pondered bitterly On all that wreck that he had wrought, From time to time indeed he thought Of the fay woman's dreadful threat.