Drunk with much honey—
Christ! again,
Some distant knight's voice brings me pain,
I thought I had forgot to feel,
I never heard the blissful steel
These ten years past; year after year,
Through all my hopeless sojourn here,
No Christian pennon has been near;
Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on
Over the marshes, battle won,
Knights' shouts, and axes hammering
Yea, quicker now the dint and ring
Of flying hoofs; ah! castellan,
When they come back count man for man,
Say whom you miss.
The Pagans, from the battlements
Mahound to aid!
Why flee ye so like men dismay'd?
The Pagans, from without
Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot,
Who follows quick upon us, hot
And shouting with his men-at-arms.
Sir Guy
Also the Pagans raise alarms.
And ring the bells for fear; at last
My prison walls will be well past.
