Theodric, visiting the outposts, found
His Udolph wounded, weltering on the ground:—
Sore crushed,—half-swooning, half-upraised, he lay,
And bent his brow, fair boy! and grasped the clay.
His fate moved e’en the common soldier’s ruth—
Theodric succoured him; nor left the youth
To vulgar hands, but brought him to his tent,
And lent what aid a brother would have lent.
“Meanwhile, to save his kindred half the smart
The war-gazette’s dread blood-roll might impart,