My foolish heart was overbold:
I drove my sage adviser hence,
And reap the fruits of mine offence.”
Canto LXIX. Narántak's Death.
Pierced to the soul by sorrow's sting
Thus wailed the evil-hearted king.
Then Triśirás stood forth and cried:
“Yea, father, he has fought and died,
Our bravest: and the loss is sore: