So monotonous was the chaunt, that its effect soon became visible in a general drowsiness.

And when Edward, who alone listened with attentive delight, turned towards the close to gather sympathising admiration from his distinguished guests, he saw his nephew yawning as if his jaw were dislocated--the Bishop of Bayeux, with his well-ringed fingers interlaced and resting on his stomach, fast asleep--Fitzosborne's half-shaven head balancing to and fro with many an uneasy start--and, William, wide awake indeed, but with eyes fixed on vacant space, and his soul far away from the gridiron to which (all other saints be praised!) the saint of the ballad had at last happily arrived.
"A comforting and salutary recital, Count William," said the King.
The Duke started from his reverie, and bowed his head: then said, rather abruptly, "Is not yon blazon that of King Alfred ?" "Yea.

Wherefore ?" "Hem! Matilda of Flanders is in direct descent from Alfred: it is a name and a line the Saxons yet honour!" "Surely, yes; Alfred was a great man, and reformed the Psalmster," replied Edward.
The dirge ceased, but so benumbing had been its effect, that the torpor it created did not subside with the cause.

There was a dead and funereal silence throughout the spacious hall, when suddenly, loudly, mightily, as the blast of the trumpet upon the hush of the grave, rose a single voice.
All started--all turned--all looked to one direction; and they saw that the great voice pealed from the farthest end of the hall.

From under his gown the gigantic stranger had drawn a small three-stringed instrument--somewhat resembling the modern lute--and thus he sang,-- THE BALLAD OF ROU.