It chafed him—but he bore it—for the love
Of that fair son, the child of his old age.
He pined in heart, yet gave the infidel
A place in his own halls.
Her. But did this last?
Rai. How should it last? Again the trumpet blew,
And men were summon’d from their homes to guard
The city of the Cross. But he seem’d cold—
That youth! He shunn’d his father’s eye, and took
No armour from the walls.