The godless drove unto a goal
     Was worse than vile defeat. 
     Did vengeance prick Count Louis’ soul
     They dressed him luscious meat.

     XXIV

     Worms will the faithless find their lies
     In the close treasure-chest. 
     Without a God no day can rise,
     Though it should slay our best.

     XXV

     The Crown it furled a draggled flag,
     It sheathed a broken blade. 
     Behold its triumph in the hag
     That lives with looks decayed!

     XXVI

     And lo, the man of oaken head,
     Of soldier’s honour bare,
     He fled his land, but most he fled
     His Lady’s frigid stare.

     XXVII

     Judged by the issue we discern
     God’s blessing, and the bane. 
     Count Louis’ dust would fill an urn,
     His deeds are waving grain.

     XXVIII

     And she that helped to slay, yet bade
     To spare the fated man,
     Great were her errors, but she had
     Great heart, Archduchess Anne.

     The song of THEODOLINDA

     I

     Queen Theodolind has built
     In the earth a furnace-bed: 
     There the Traitor Nail that spilt
     Blood of the anointed Head,
     Red of heat, resolves in shame: 
     White of heat, awakes to flame. 
     Beat, beat! white of heat,
     Red of heat, beat, beat!

     II

     Mark the skeleton of fire
     Lightening from its thunder-roof: 
     So comes this that saw expire
     Him we love, for our behoof! 
     Red of heat, O white of heat,
     This from off the Cross we greet.

     III

     Brown-cowled hammermen around
     Nerve their naked arms to strike
     Death with Resurrection crowned,
     Each upon that cruel spike. 
     Red of heat the furnace leaps,
     White of heat transfigured sleeps.

     IV

     Hard against the furnace core
     Holds the Queen her streaming eyes: 
     Lo! that thing of piteous gore
     In the lap of radiance lies,
     Red of heat, as when He takes,
     White of heat, whom earth forsakes.

     V

     Forth with it, and crushing ring
     Iron hymns, for men to hear
     Echoes of the deeds that sting
     Earth into its graves, and fear! 
     Red of heat, He maketh thus,
     White of heat, a crown of us.

     VI

     This that killed Thee, kissed Thee, Lord! 
     Touched Thee, and we touch it:  dear,
     Dark it is; adored, abhorred: 
     Vilest, yet most sainted here. 
     Red of heat, O white of heat,
     In it hell and heaven meet.

     VII

     I behold our morning day
     When they chased Him out with rods
     Up to where this traitor lay
     Thirsting; and the blood was God’s! 
     Red of heat, it shall be pressed,
     White of heat, once on my breast!