And I beheld—Oh God! Oh God!
His life-blood oozing from the sod!
XI.
“Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred,
Alas! my warrior’s spirit brave.
Nor mass nor ulla-lulla[62] heard,
Lamenting, soothe his grave.
Dragged to their hated mansion back,
How long in thraldom’s grasp I lay,
I knew not, for my soul was black,