And thereupon the Syndic gravely read
The proclamation of the King; then said: 
“Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay,
But cometh back on foot, and begs its way;
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds,
Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds! 
These are familiar proverbs; but I fear
They never yet have reached your knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, what repute
Can come to you from starving this poor brute? 
He who serves well and speaks not, merits more
Than they who clamor loudest at the door. 
Therefore the law decrees that as this steed
Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed
To comfort his old age, and to provide
Shelter in stall an food and field beside.”

The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. 
The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee
And cried aloud:  “Right well it pleaseth me! 
Church-bells at best but ring us to the door;
But go not in to mass; my bell doth more: 
It cometh into court and pleads the cause
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws;
And this shall make, in every Christian clime,
The Bell of Atri famous for all time.”

INTERLUDE

“Yes, well your story pleads the cause
Of those dumb mouths that have no speech,
Only a cry from each to each
In its own kind, with its own laws;
Something that is beyond the reach
Of human power to learn or teach,—­
An inarticulate moan of pain,
Like the immeasurable main
Breaking upon an unknown beach.”

Thus spake the Poet with a sigh;
Then added, with impassioned cry,
As one who feels the words he speaks,
The color flushing in his cheeks,
The fervor burning in his eye: 
“Among the noblest in the land,
Though he may count himself the least,
That man I honor and revere
Who without favor, without fear,
In the great city dares to stand
The friend of every friendless beast,
And tames with his unflinching hand
The brutes that wear our form and face,
The were-wolves of the human race!”
Then paused, and waited with a frown,
Like some old champion of romance,
Who, having thrown his gauntlet down,
Expectant leans upon his lance;
But neither Knight nor Squire is found
To raise the gauntlet from the ground,
And try with him the battle’s chance.

“Wake from your dreams, O Edrehi! 
Or dreaming speak to us, and make
A feint of being half awake,
And tell us what your dreams may be. 
Out of the hazy atmosphere
Of cloud-land deign to reappear
Among us in this Wayside Inn;
Tell us what visions and what scenes
Illuminate the dark ravines
In which you grope your way.  Begin!”