But on the sword he gazed elate
With hope set higher than fear or fate,
Or doubt of darkling days in wait;
And when her thankful praise waxed great
⁠And craved of him the sword again,
He would not give it. 'Nay, for mine
It is till force may make it thine.'
A smile that shone as death may shine
⁠Spake toward him bale and bane.

Strange lightning flickered from her eyes.
'Gentle and good in knighthest guise
And meet for quest of strange emprise
Thou hast here approved thee: yet not wise
⁠To keep the sword from me, I wis.
For with it thou shalt surely slay
Of all that look upon the day
The man best loved of thee, and lay
⁠Thine own life down for his.'