XIV
There's a cry in Gudal's family,
And crowd filled the court of him:
What horse has come exhausted, shaking
And falled down suddenly in entry?
Who is that rider, breathless poor?
The wrinkles of his dark face clued
The traces of the battle troubles.
His armament and gown're blooded;
In last clench of the furious power
His hand froze over the mane.
A short one was your waiting gaze,
The braid, for your groom young:
He carried out word of swear ,
On wedding feast he rode at last...
Alas! He'd never saddle anew
A dashing horse, that's cruel thruth!..