None who Lez-Breiz met had known him,
Altered thus in face and mien.
One there was alone who knew him
Through the wood a lady bright,
Through the greenwood swiftly passing,
Clad in garb of purest white,
Stayed her steps and wept, beholding
Lez-Breiz in so piteous plight.
“Is it thou, my dear son Lez-Breiz?
Lez-Breiz, is it thou indeed?
Come, my child, that I may free thee
From thy burden sore, with speed.
“Let me with my golden scissors
Sever this thy heavy chain.
I thy mother, Anue of Armor,
Come to end thy lengthened pain.”
II.
A month and seven years had flown,
When Lez-Breiz’ faithful squire