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No tidings of the foe were brought,
Nor in what time the truce he sought.
Some said, that there were thousands ten;
And others weened that it was nought
Who came to gather in black mail; *
Might drive them lightly back agen.
And welcome was the peep
CEASED the high sound-the listening throng
Applaud the Master of the Song;
And marvel much, in helpless age,
* Protection-money exacted by free-booters.
Had he no friend-no daughter dear,
His wandering toil to share and cheer;
And guide him on the rugged way?—
To hide the tear, that fain would fall.