Chapter VIII

He struck on the gate with his good sword:
“Ho! wardour, ho!” but never a word
Return’d the wardour from within.
“The storm is loud, the night is dark,
I hear from the woods the dog-wolf bark.
Up, wardour, up! it were a sin
To turn a traveller from your tower,
At such a lone and dreary hour;
A Saracen would let me in!”