Recreant from Battle! I will not partake
A fugitive's fate, but to my home returning
In bitterness of memory curse the hour
When to a coward basely I resign'd 125
My virgin worth."
"Nay Agnes," Charles replied,
"Add not the anguish of thy keen reproach!
I have enough of sorrow. Look around,
See this fair country ravag'd by the foe,
My strong holds taken, and my bravest Chiefs 130
FalFn in the field, or captives far away.
Dead is the Douglas—cold thy warrior frame,
Illustrious Buchan; ye from Scotland's hills,
Not mindless of your old ally distress'd,
Rush'd to his succour: in his cause ye fought, 135
Ye perish'd. Gallant rash ill-destin'd Nabonne!
Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of Heaven.
Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death.
Fall'n is Ventadaur. Silent in the grave
Ramboilillet sleeps. Bretagne's unfaithful chief 140
"Leagues
