Thrust on a spear for mockery,
And raised the head of Abramo.
Swift round the tower in mirthless rout
They raced and tossed the words about,
"Bianca of the yellow hair,
With witch-face white as ivory,
Yield to our might that we may bear
Thy body back to Rimini,"
'Twas thus the foemen cried all day
And strove to daunt with fierce display