She hugged a cloak old Kraken ripped;
Disguise to him he loathed.
—Your mercy, madam, shows you stripped,
While mine will keep you clothed.
IX
A rough ill-soldered scar in haste
He rubbed on his cheek-bone.
—Our policy the man shall taste;
Our mercy shall be shown.
X
‘Count Louis, honour to your race
Decrees the Council-hall:
You ’scape the rope by special grace,
And like a soldier fall.’
XI
—I am a man of many sins,
Who for one virtue die,
Count Louis said.—They play at shins,
Who kick, was the reply.
XII
Uprose the day of crimson sight,
The day without a God.
At morn the hero said Good-night:
See there that stain on sod!