Chapter LIV: Part III: I

With Lez-Breiz be the victory!
Lez-Breiz the Breton knight
Goes forth with Lorgnez to engage
In single-handed fight.
Heav’n grant that in the combat fierce
Victorious he may be,
And send good news to gladden all
The folk of Brittany.

Said Lez-Breiz to his young esquire,
“Awake, my page; arise:
Furbish my helm, my sword, my shield
And lance, in heedful wise.
To crimson them with Frankish blood
Forth am I fain to go;
By help of heaven and my two arms,
The Franks to leap I’ll show.”

“Oh! bid me also, my good lord,
Go with you, I implore.”
“Ah! what would thy poor mother say,
Shouldst thou return no more?
If on the ground thy blood should flow,
Who then would be her stay?”
“Oh! if you love me, my good lord,
You will not say me nay.

“But let me follow in the fight;
The Franks I do not fear:
My heart is firm; my steel is sharp
And true, my master dear.
And let who list lay blame on me,
Where you go, there go I;
And where you fight, there I will fight,
Whether I live or die.”

II.

Forth to the combat Lez-Breiz went,
With his young page, till he
Came to S. Anne of Armor, when
Into the church went he.
“O blesséd lady, sweet S. Anne,
In youth to thee I came
To pay my homage, and to crave
The shelter of thy name.

“I had not reached my twenty years,
Yet twenty fights had seen,
And every one, O lady blest,
Won by thine aid had been.
If to my own land yet again
It may be granted me
Safe to return, I give this gift,
Mother S. Anne, to thee:

“With cord of wax encompassed thrice
These very walls shall be;
Thrice round the churchyard and the church,
When I my home shall see.
And I will offer thee, S. Anne,
A goodly banner fair
Of velvet and white satin wrought,
And staff of ivory rare.

“And likewise seven silver bells
Shall in the belfry swing,
Which merrily above thy head
By night and day shall ring.
And for thy holy-water stoup,
Thrice on my knees I’ll go,
Water to fetch from where the stream
Doth clearest, purest flow.”

“Go, Lez-Breiz, fearless to the fight,
I will be with thee, noble knight.”

III.

Hear ye? ‘Tis Lez-Breiz who arrives:
He comes, ye need not doubt,
With goodly number in his rear
Of steel-clad warriors stout.
Hold! on a small white ass he rides,
Bridled with hempen cord;
And all his suite one little page
Who followeth his lord!
And yet he is a mighty man
As any that draw sword.

Now, when the squire of Lez-Breiz saw
Them onward nearer ride,
He closer pressed and closer to
The knight his master’s side.
“See you, my lord? ‘Tis Lorgnez comes,
And with him warriors ten,
And ten surround him as he rides,
Followed again by ten.

“Round by the chestnut woods they come:
Alas, my master dear,
Against such fearful odds to fight
Will cost us much, I fear.”
“When once they taste my polished steel,
Then thou fell soon shalt see,
Though now they number thirty men,
How many left will be.

“Strike against mine thy sword, my page,
Then march we forward, and engage.”

IV.

“Ha! Chevalier Lez-Breiz: good-day to thee.”
“Ha! Chevalier Lorgnez: the same from me.”

“Is it alone thou comest to the fight?”
“Nay, sooth, I am not come alone, sir knight:
S. Anne herself is with me, lady bright.”

“I from the king come forth to-day:
He bids me take thy life away.”

“Thy king I scorn, as I scorn thee,
Thy sword, and all thine armed menie:
Return ‘mid womankind to be,
And wear gilt garments gallantly
At Paris; and begone from me!

“Sir Lez-Breiz, say to me, I pray,
In what wood saw you first the day?
The meanest serf that eats my bread
Shall make your helm leap off your head.”

Then Lez-Breiz swift his good sword drew:
“The son shall make full well to rue
Him who the father never knew.”

V.

In friendly wise the hermit spake,
As at his door he stood—
To the young page of Lez-Breiz spake
The hermit of the wood:
“Thou speed’st apace the forest through,
Thine armor dashed with blood:
Come to my hermitage, my child,
Come in for rest and food;
Come in and wash thy stains away.”
Thus spake that hermit good.

“Nay, father, this is not the time
For me to eat or rest:
A fountain in all haste I seek
At my poor lord’s behest.
So sorely is my master spent
With most unequal strife
That well it is from this affray
That he escapes with life.

“Lie thirteen knights, Sir Lorgnez first,
Beneath him, slain to-day;
And I as many overcame:
The rest all ran away.”

VI.

Breton at heart he had not been
Who had not laughed to see
The green grass red with Frankish blood,
As red as it could be;
While near the slain sate Lord Lez-Breiz,
Resting him wearily.

And he had been no Christian, sure
Who wept not to behold
The tears from Lez-Breiz’ eyes that fell,
And dropped upon the mould,
All in the church of good S. Anne,
Where, on his bended knee,
Weeping he thanked the patroness
Of his own Brittany.

“Mother S. Anne, all thanks to you,
All thanks to you I give:
‘Twas in your might I fought the fight,
Still, thanks to you, I live.”

VII.

This combat fierce to keep in mind
Is sung this goodly song;
In honor of the brave Lez-Breiz
May Bretons sing it long!
Sing it in chorus everywhere,
And all men in the gladness share.