But each good year has seen its harvests three,
Of blade, of ear, of fruit, apple and nut
Peace until now in all his realm has reigned,
And terror of just laws kept men secure.
What though, by love constrained, in passion's hour,
I joined my fortunes to the desperate fates
Of hapless kinsmen, I repent it now,
And wish that rigorous law had had its course
Sooner than this good king should now be slain."
" Not spoken like a brother," Ingcel said,
" Nor one who feels for brothers by the side
Of a grey father butchered, as I feel."
" 'Twas blind chance-medley, and we knew them
not,
For kin of thine," said Ferragon ; " but he,
This king, is kin of ours ; and that thou knowest
With seasonable warning : it were woe
To slay him."
" Woe it were, perchance, to thee ;
To me, 'twere joy to slay both him and them ;
'Twere blood for blood, and what my soul desires.
My father was a king : my brethren seven
Were princely nurtured. Think'st thou I for them
Feel not compassion ? nourish not desire
Of vengeance ? No. I stand upon the oaths
Ye swore me ; I demand my spoil for spoil,
My blood for blood."
" 'Tis just," said Fergobar,
" We promised and will make the bargain good."
" Yet take the spoil we own to be thy right
