Forgat how near to the shadow of bitter death they lay:
For the sick and the fever-blasted love’s lips forgot to sigh,
So glad were they all for the dawning of the festal days so nigh;
For they thought, “In such royal bounty shall we live and see good days!”
There were murmurs of mirth unmeasured through all the city’s ways;
There were overflowings of gladness—more bliss no man hath beheld:
High through the land of Gunther the tides of joyance swelled.
All on a merry morning of Whitsuntide rode they,
Those splendour-vestured chosen brave knights in long array,
Five thousand men—nay, haply yet more, to the King’s feast bound: