Oft his helmet plumes were waving
High above the Paynim swarm.[2]
But tho’ Moslem hosts were quaking
At the Toggenburger’s name,
Still his breast, with anguish breaking,
Felt its sorrow yet the same:
Felt it till a year departed—
Felt it of all hope bereft;
Restless, joyless, broken-hearted,
Then the warring bands he left;—