But here the matter was not to end. In this emergency young Henry offered his services to his father, promising to advise or if necessary to enforce a reconciliation between his brothers. But no sooner had he arrived at the seat of war than he also joined the league of the barons. Richard in his extreme need implored the aid of his father, who immediately entered into alliance with Alfonso of Aragon for the purpose of subduing his rebellious sons. The princes sought the support of the Count of Toulouse and other powerful nobles of the south of France. War on a large scale became inevitable, and this prospect was greeted by Bertran with an exuberance of joy. He revels beforehand in the brilliant and terrible scenes of a field of battle. ‘As soon as we arrive,’ he exclaims, ‘the tournament shall begin. The Catalans and the Aragonese will fall to the ground fast and thick. The pommels of their saddles will be of no use to them, for our friends strike long blows. And the splinters will fly up to heaven, and silk and samite will be torn to shreds, and tents and huts destroyed.’ But once more Bertran’s high hopes of victory were to be cut short by the hand of fate. King Henry was laying siege to Limoges, and his two rebellious sons were preparing a large expedition for the rescue of the threatened city, when suddenly young Henry was taken ill with a violent fever and died shortly afterwards. On his death-bed he implored his father’s pardon and asked for a last interview, but the King, although deeply moved, was persuaded by his counsellors to refuse this favour. It is said that he feared a snare, and after his former experiences this suspicion was but too easily accounted for. He, however, sent a ring in token of forgiveness, which his son pressed to his dying lips. This death was a blow to both contending parties. In spite of their dissensions, King Henry had deeply loved his son, who, according to the unanimous testimony of his contemporaries, was a high-spirited youth of undaunted courage and noblest aspirations. Bertran’s grief also was true, and, for the moment at least, unselfish. His unwavering friendship for young Henry is the one redeeming feature in the reckless warrior’s character, and this feeling, which death itself had not destroyed, now inspired him with a song of noblest pathos. It is a dirge as sad and as true as ever friend has sung for friend. I have attempted the following literal translation of three stanzas, in which the metrical peculiarities of the original are strictly adhered to. These peculiarities, which frequently serve the troubadours for the display of their consummate skill, are here made the vehicle of genuine emotion, and give truth and colour to the poem. Note particularly the repetition of the same words at the end of the first, fifth, and eighth lines of each stanza, which strikes the note of unrelieved sadness with the monotony of a death-knell:— PLANH.