"True is my father of Fontanlee!

"And, brother, as Heaven goes with the wrong,
If this lying baron should lay me along,
Strike another blow for our good renown."
"Doubt me not," said the young knight John.

The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse,
And ridden him down the battle-course;
In bold Sir Stephen's best life-blood
His spear's point is wet to the wood.

The young knight John hath bent his knee,
And speaks his soul right solemnly:
"Whatever seemeth good to Thee,
The same, O Lord, attend on me.

"What though my brothers lie along,
My father's faith is firm and strong:
Perchance thy deeply-hid intent
Doth need some nobler instrument.

"Let faithless hearts give heed to fear,
I will not falter in my prayer:
If ever guilty treachery
Did stain the blood of Fontanlee,--

"As such an 'if' doth stain my lips,
Though truth lie hidden in eclipse,--
Let yonder lance-head pierce my breast,
And my soul seek its endless rest."

Never a whit did young John yield
When the lance ran through his painted shield;
Never a whit debased his crest,
When the lance ran into his tender breast.

"What is this? what is this, thou young Sir John,
That runs so fast from thine armour down?"
"Oh, this is my heart's blood, I feel,
And it wets me through from the waist to the heel."

Sights of sadness many a one
A man may meet beneath the sun;
But a sadder sight did never man see
Than lies in the Hall of Fontanlee.

There are three corses manly and fair,
Each in its armour, and each on its bier;
There are three squires weeping and wan,
Every one with his head on his hand,

Every one with his hand on his knee,
At the foot of his master silently
Sitting, and weeping bitterly
For the broken honour of Fontanlee.

Who is this at their sides that stands?
"Lift, O squires, your heads from your hands;
Tell me who these dead men b