XXVI.

True it was, as the songs relate, {121c} No one's steeds {121d} overtook Marchleu; The lances {121e} hurled by the commanding earl, In his prancing career, {121f} strewed a thick path; As he had been reared for slaughter by the aid of my mother, {121g} Furious was the stroke of his sword whilst lending support to others; {121h} Ashen shafts were scattered from the grasp of his hand, {122a} Above the narrow summit {122b} of the solemn pile, {122c} The place where one caused the smoke to ascend; {122d} He would slaughter with the blade, whilst his arms were full of furze; {122e} As when a reaping comes in the interval of fine weather, {122f} Would Marchleu {123a} make the blood to flow.