"I would mine hand had fought that fight And justified my father! I would mine heart had caught that wound And slept beside him rather! I think it were a better thing Than murdered friend and marriage-ring Forced on my life together. XX. "Wail shook Earl Walter's house; His true wife shed no tear; She lay upon her bed as mute As the earl did on his bier: Till--'Ride, ride fast,' she said at last, 'And bring the avengèd's son anear! Ride fast, ride free, as a dart can flee, For white of blee with waiting for me Is the corse in the next chambère.' XXI. "I came, I knelt beside her bed; Her calm was worse than strife: 'My husband, for thy father dear, Gave freely when thou wast not here His own and eke my life. A boon! Of that sweet child we make An orphan for thy father's sake, Make thou, for ours, a wife.' XXII. "I said, 'My steed neighs in the court, My bark rocks on the brine, And the warrior's vow I am under now To free the pilgrim's shrine; But fetch the ring and fetch the priest And call that daughter of thine, And rule she wide from my castle on Nyde While I am in Palestine.' XXIII. "In the dark chambère, if the bride was fair, Ye wis, I could not see, But the steed thrice neighed, and the priest fast prayed, And wedded fast were we. Her mother smiled upon her bed As at its side we knelt to wed, And the bride rose from her knee And kissed the smile of her mother dead, Or ever she kissed me. XXIV. "My page, my page, what grieves thee so, That the tears run down thy face?"-- "Alas, alas! mine own sistèr Was in thy lady's case: But _she_ laid down the silks she wore And followed him she wed before, Disguised as his true servitor, To the very battle-place." XXV. And wept the page, but laughed the knight, A careless laugh laughed he: "Well done it were for thy sistèr, But not for my ladye! My love, so please you, shall requite No woman, whether dark or bright, Unwomaned if she be." XXVI. The page stopped weeping and smiled cold-- "Your wisdom may declare That womanhood is proved the best By golden brooch and glossy vest The mincing ladies wear; Yet is it proved, and was of old, Anear as well, I dare to hold, By truth, or by despair." XXVII. He smiled no more, he wept no more, But passionate he spake-- "Oh, womanly she prayed in tent, When none beside did wake! Oh, womanly she paled in fight, For one belovèd's sake!-- And her little hand, defiled with blood, Her tender tears of womanhood Most woman-pure did make!" XXVIII.