er!--Oh, the wild distress
Of that last moment when, half-dead, I saw
Them mount and bear her swooning through the shaw.

IX.

Long time I lay unconscious. It befell
Some woodsmen found me, having heard the sound
Of fighting cease that, for two days, made dell
And dingle echo; ventured on the ground
For plunder; and it had not then gone well
With me, I fear, had not their leader found
That in some way I would repay his care;
So bore me to his hut and nursed me there.

X.

How roughly kind he was. For weeks I hung
'Twixt life and death; health, like a varying, sick,
And fluttering pendulum, now this way swung,
Now that, until at last its querulous tick
Beat out life's usual time, and slowly rung
The long loud hours that exclaimed, "Be quick!--
Arise--Go forth!--Hear how her black wrongs call!--
Make them the salve to cure thy wounds withal!"

XI.

They were my balsam: for, ere autumn came,
Weak still, but over eager to be gone,
I took my leave of him. A little lame
From that hip-wound, and somewhat thin and wan,
I sought the village. Here I heard her name
And shame's made one. How Rupert passed one dawn,
And she among his troopers rode--astride
Like any man--pale-faced and feverish-eyed.

XII.

Which way these took they pointed, and I went
Like fire after. Oh, the thought was good
That they were on before! And much it meant
To know she lived still; she, whose image stood
Ever before me, making turbulent
Each heart-beat with her wrongs, that were fierce food
Unto my hate that, "Courage!" cried, "Rest not!
Think of her there, and let thy haste be hot!"

XIII.

But months passed by and still I had not found:
Yet here and there, as wearily I sought,
I caught some news: how he had held his ground
Against the Roundhead troops; or how he'd fought
Then fled, returned and conquered. Like a hound,
Questing a boar, I followed; but was brought
Never to see my quarry. Day by day
It seemed that Satan kept him from my way.

XIV.

A woman rode beside him, so they said,
A fair-faced wanton, mounted like a man--
Isolda!--my Isolda!--better dead,
Yea, dead and damned! than thus the courtesan,
Bold, unreluctant, of such men! A dread,
That such should be, unmanned me. Doubt began
To whisper at my heart.--But I was mad,
To insult her with