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Or sounds it as the voice of one

Who unto death is being done,

Yet know we nought of his estate,

Though seemeth it right desperate,

And nearing death if help come not.

Thence flees Fair-Welcome at full trot,

Who hath to him such comfort been,

And needful now it is, I ween,

Fair-Welcome should return again,

To which end all take arms amain.

Most surely to my last long home

I’d gone if succour had not come.

But quickly all the Barons flew

To arms, so soon as e’er they knew

By sight and sound of my distress.

For me, alas! I must confess

That, tangled in the snares of love,

I stood, bereft of power to move,

Spectator of the desperate fight

Which ’neath my wondering eyes was dight.

For soon as e’er the guardians saw

This mighty host anigh them draw,

The three a league between them sware,

Good faith to keep, great deeds to dare,

And in united phalanx stand,

Till bowed ’neath death’s all-conquering hand,

A strong and helpful brotherhood:

And I who saw from where I stood

Their fierce expression of defiance,

Trembled at this most dread alliance.