“Cried out, ‘O vassal, thy head shall make up the scant measure!’
Straight, with his sword swept his head off, and then, by the long hair
Taking it up, he has thrown it down into the balance.”
Hearing these tidings, the aged chief fell, nigh to swooning,
Heavily fell on the rock, with his long white hair hiding,
Hiding his face, groaning, “Karo, my son! my son Karo!”
II.
The aged chief is journeying with all his kith and kin,
Till he to Nomenöe’s castle strong the way doth win.
“Say, porter at the castle gate, your lord, is he at home?”
“Or be it so, or be it not, to him may no harm come!”
E’en as he spake, his lord came riding through the portal strong,
Returning from the chase, his fierce hounds scouring swift along;
His bow he carried in his hand, and o’er his shoulder slung
A wild boar of the forest, huge, all dead and bleeding, hung.
“Good-day to you, brave mountaineers, and father, first to thee.
What tidings bring you, or what is it you would ask of me?”
“We come to learn if Justice lives—if God in heaven there be:
We come to learn if still there is a chief in Brittany.”
“Sure, I believe that God in heaven ever dwells on high;
And, so far as I can be, chief of Brittany am I.”