"Now," said he, "you may strike; I have done my duty and am ready." William was abashed and humbled, and, returning his sword to its scabbard, exclaimed, "No, priest, I do not love you well enough to send you straight to Paradise." He had not, however, the grace to pardon the intrepid priest, for he banished him to Chauvigny, where he shortly afterwards died, in 1115.
The following is one of the lays of this famous Troubadour, whose songs are the earliest extant: Anew I tune my lute to love, Ere storms disturb the tranquil hour, For her who strives my truth to prove, My only pride, and beauty's flower; But who will ne'er my pain remove, Who knows and triumphs in her power.
I am, alas! her willing thrall; She may record me as her own: Nor my devotion weakness call, That her I prize, and her alone: Without her can I live at all, A captive so accustom'd grown?
What hope have I ?--Oh lady dear! Do I then sigh in vain for thee; And wilt thou, ever thus severe, Be as a cloistered nun to me?
Methinks this heart but ill can bear An unrewarded slave to be! Why banish love and joy thy bowers-- Why thus my passion disapprove?
When, lady, all the world were ours If thou couldst learn, like me, to love..