“Death sorely us despoileth,”
spake the lad Giselher:
“But make an end of weeping,
and get we to the air
To cool our mail-clad bodies,
worn as we are with strife;
Here God, I ween, will grant us
but scanty spell of life.”
“Death sorely us despoileth,”
spake the lad Giselher:
“But make an end of weeping,
and get we to the air
To cool our mail-clad bodies,
worn as we are with strife;
Here God, I ween, will grant us
but scanty spell of life.”