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.
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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!”
FYTTE III.
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.”
