The Death of the Count of Armanac
The swords of Alexandria
You kept them all at bay.
But oh, the summer sun at noon
It strikes more deep than they.
****
Oh for a drink of water !
Oh for a moment's space
To loose the iron helm and let
The wind blow on his face !
He turned his eyes from left to right,
And at his hand there stood
The shivering white poplars
That fringe a little wood.
And as he reeled along the grass,
Behold, as chill as ice
The water ran beneath his foot,
And he thought it Paradise.
"Armanac! O Armanac!"
His distant knights rang out ;
And "Armanac" there answered them
The mountains round about.
O luckless Count of Armanac,
The day is lost and won :
Your hosts fight ill without a chief.
And the foe is three to one.
****
At dusk there rides a Lombard squire.
With his train, into the copse.
And when they reach the water-side
The horse whinnies and stops,
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