Sanpeur's well-rounded nature is triune,
And flesh and sense as much a part of him
As his clear brain and spirit consecrate.
Passion for once asserts itself; he starts,
And towards the castle strides with rapid steps;
"She is my own, Fate sent her here to me;
I cannot war against it any more;
I will go in and fold her to myself."

He clasps his empty arms upon his breast,
In the abandonment of wild desire,
And feels, beneath the pressure of his hands,
The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost.
"Good Lord, deliver me from sin," he cries,
And bows his knightly head in silent prayer.

No earnest soul can ask and not receive:
Before the warden's deep-toned voice calls out
Another watch, Sanpeur has overcome.

He passed his night beneath the silent stars,
Below the resting-room of Gwendolaine,
Who lay within his castle, loving him,
While he kept watch, to guard her from himself.

Just ere the morning light, there was a cry
From his most faithful seneschal to rouse
The vassals to defend the brave Sanpeur,
Loved loyally; and from the battlements
He saw Sir Torm, waging a savage fight