No tidings of the foe were brought, Nor in what time the truce he sought. Some said, that there were thousands ten; And others weened that it was nought Who came to gather in black mail; * Might drive them lightly back agen. And welcome was the peep of day. CEASED the high sound-the listening throng Applaud the Master of the Song; And marvel much, in helpless age, * Protection-money exacted by free-booters. G Had he no friend-no daughter dear, His wandering toil to share and cheer; And guide him on the rugged way?— To hide the tear, that fain would fall. |