Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/457

444 Therewith the old man wept outright, That tears ran down his heard so white,

Like dew-drops on a lily flower, That glitter at the sun-rise hour.

When of those tears the chief was ware, A stern and bloody oath he sware:

I swear it, by this wild-boar’s head, And by the shaft that laid him dead,

Till this plague’s wash’d from out the land, This blood I wash not off my hand!”

Noménoë hath done, I trow, What never chieftain did till now;

Hath sought the sea-beach, sack in hand, To gather pebbles from the strand—

Pebbles as tribute-toll to bring The Intendant of the baldhead king.

Noménoë hath done, I trow, What never chieftain did till now.

Prince as he is, hath ta'en his way, The tribute-toll himself to pay.

Fling wide the gates of Roazon, That I may enter in, anon.

Noménoë comes within your gate, His wains all piled with silver freight.”