And strove anew, unterrified, But lastly, wearied wholly, cried For succor, since his laden wherry Rocked ever on the coming tide. * * * * * ‘I hear a cry of anguish sore!’ But straight his love had barred the door: ‘Bide here; the night bodes naught but danger.’ Loud beat the waves along the shore. A bedded child made soft behest: ‘So loud the voice I cannot rest.’ ‘It is the rain, dear, in the garden.’ The cruel water binds his breast. ‘A lamp, a lamp! some traveller’s lost!’ But thro’ the tavern roared the host: ‘Nay, only thunder rude and heavy.’ Close to his lips the foam is tossed. ‘O listen well, my liege and king! Hark from gay halls this grievous thing!’ ‘Strange how the wild wind drowns our music!’ About his head the eddies swing. At stroke of three the abbot meek Moved out among his flock to speak This word, with tears of doubt and wonder: ‘I had a dream; come forth and seek.’ With torch and flagon, forth they sped: The fisher glared from the harbor-bed! The tide, from his white hair down-fallen, All kindly ebbed, now he was dead. Lepanto’s star shone fast and good; The sea-kelp wrapped him like a hood; His arms were stretched in woe to heaven; The boat had drifted: so he stood. The Unavenged he seemed to be! Then fell each monk upon his knee: ‘Lord Christ!’ the abbot sang, awe-stricken: ‘Rest my old rival’s soul!’ sang he. CHALUZ CASTLE. THERE sped, at hint of treasure Dug from the garden-mould, Word to the doughty vassal: ‘Thy sovereign claims the gold!’ ‘Nay, Richard, come and wrest it!’ Said Vidomar the bold. Uprose the Lionhearted, He locked his armor on: And over seas that morrow Around his gonfalon, The crash and hiss of battle Blazed up, and mocked the sun. King Richard led his bowmen By Chaluz dark and high; Like rain and rack they followed His flashing storm-blue eye: Forth peered Bertrand de Gourdon From the turret stair thereby. Thro’ morris-pikes and halberds The king rode out and in, His horse in gaudy trappings, His sabre drawn and thin: Down knelt Bertrand de Gourdon His strongbow at his chin. O shrill that arrow quivered! And fierce and awful broke Acclaim in billowy thunder From all the foreign folk, At mighty Richard fallen Beneath a foreign oak! Then leaped his English barons, Converging from afar, And loosed the flood of slaughter To the gates of Vidomar; And seized Bertrand de Gourdon, As clouds enmesh a star. They brought the bright-cheeked archer Who scoffed not, neither feared, To the tent ringed in with faces That menaced in their beard; But the king’s face lay before him In the lamplight semisphered.