VI.

The warder's challenge, heard without, Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. A soldier to the portal went,-- 'Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; And--beat for jubilee the drum!-- A maid and minstrel with him come.' Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, Was entering now the Court of Guard, A harper with him, and, in plaid All muffled close, a mountain maid, Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 'What news?' they roared:--' I only know, From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untamable As the rude mountains where they dwell; On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast.'-- 'But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band.'