Who in his arms a captive damsel bears, Sore grieving, and across the pommel laid;
She weeps and struggles, and the semblance wears Of cruel woe, and ever calls for aid Upon Anglantes' prince; and now appears To him, as he surveys the youthful maid, She, for whom, night and day, with ceaseless pain, Inside and out, he France had searched in vain.
