And he vowed, though his own paid forfeit, he would save her guilty life.
He could see there were tiny juttings where his foot might find a hold,
And the man he had quite forgotten was worth his weight in gold.
The booby was bruised and shaken, and fancied that he should die,
But Sir Rupert bade him help him, or he’d shoot him by-and-by
Then the white-faced coward whimpered and lifted his jeweled hands,
And Sir Rupert set him tearing his mantle in narrow bands.
Then the strips were twined together and tied to a rough stone seat,
And over went brave Sir Rupert, clinging with hands and feet.
The waves in their winter fury shrieked for a human life,