Many a cliff he o’erclomb in countries unknown—
Far stray’d from his friends, a stranger he rode;
At each water or warth where the wight ever pass’d,
Ay found he before him a foe uncanny,
And that so foul and so fell, that to fight behoved him.
And marvels so many by mountains he found,
It were tedious to tell the tenth-deal thereof.
Now with worms did he war, and with wolves also,
Now with the satyrs that sought from the screes,
With wild bulls and bears and with boars otherwhiles,
And with ogres that snorted from the hígh fèlls.
Had he not doughtily dree’d, and dearly God loved,
Doubtless full often to death he had been done.
For if the warfare griev’d him, worse was the winter
When the clouds shed adown the clear cold water,
That froze ere it fall might, to the fallow earth;
Near slain by the sleet, he slept in his irons
More nights than enow in naked rocks,
Where clattering fro’ the crest the cold burn ran,
Or hung high o’er his head in icicles sharp.
Thus in peril and pain and plights very hard
Cross country he clomb till Christmas-even,
alone.
The knight full sore that tide
To Mary made his moan,
That she should well him guide
And win him to some wone.