is a stranger's and not Sir Beaufort's call;
Have you ne'er a slighted lover or a kinsman with a heart
Base enough to seek his vengeance at the sharp end of the dart?"

"There is Sassard of the Mountains," answered she without guile,
"While I wedded at the chancel, he stood mocking in the aisle;
And my maidens say he swore there that for all my plighted vow,
They would see me in his castle yet upon Morency's brow."

"It is Sassard and no other then," her noble guardian cried;
"There is craft in yonder summons," and he rung his sword beside.
"To the walls, ye sons of Germain! and as each would hold his life
From the bitter shame of falsehood, let us hold our master's wife."

"Can you hold her, can you shield her from the breezes that await?"
Cried the stinging voice of Sassard from his stand beside the gate.
"If you have the power to shield her from the sunlight and the wind,
You may shield her from stern Sassard when his falchion is untwined."

"We can hold her, we can shield her," leaped like fire from off the
wall,
And young Enguerrand the valiant, sprang out before them all.
"And if breezes bring dishonor, we will guard her from their breath,
Though we yield her to the keeping of the sacred arms of Death."

And with force that never faltered, did they guard her all that day,
Though the strength of triple armies seemed to battle in the fray,
The old castle's rugged ramparts holding firm against the foe,
As a goodly dyke resisteth the whelming billow's flow.

But next morning as the sunlight rose in splendor over all,
Hugh the mighty, sank heart-wounded in his station on the wall,
At the noon the valiant Raoul of the merry eye and heart,
Gave his beauty and his jestings to the foeman's jealous dart.

Gallant Maurice next sank faltering with a death wound 'neath his hair,
But still fighting on till Sassard pressed across him up the stair.

Generous Clement followed after, crying as his spirit passed,
"Sons of Germain to the rescue, and be loyal to the last!"

Gentle Jaspar, lordly Clarence, Sessamine the doughty brand,
Even Henri who had yielded ne'er before to mortal hand;
One by one they fall and perish, while the vaunting foemen pour
Through the breach and up the courtway to the very turret's door.

Enguerrand and Stephen only now were left of all that nine,