His sabre drew, a cup raised from the board,
Drew near the window. “It is done!” he cried.
He filled, and drank. “Old man, ’tis in thy hands.”
Halban grew pale. With motion of his hand
He thought to spill the draught—he stopt in thought.
The sounds aye nearer through the doors were heard,
His hand relaxed. “’Tis they, the foes are come!”
“Old man, thou knowest what this uproar means?
What are thy thoughts? Thou hast the goblet full—
I have drunk my portion. In thy hands, old man.”