So over the Channel to France with his King,
The Black Prince, sailed to the wars—to deaden
The ache of the mystery—Hugh that spring
And fell at Poitiers; for his loss lay leaden
O' his heart; and his life was a weary sadness,
So he flung it away in a moment's madness.
And the baron died. And the bridegroom?—well,
Unlucky was he in truth!—to tell
Of him there is nothing.—The baron died,
The last of the Strongbows he—gramercy!