‘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.