IN toils the old gray fox was caught.
Last of his race, the baron fought
Alone, yet all unflinchingly;
At bay before a hundred foes,
Within that arm how strong it flows, -
The good old blood of Burgundy!
He falls with many a streaming wound;
(Small mercy may for him be found,
The haughty knight of St. Marie!)
Then, as the pack around him close,
He cries, "Behold, how strong it flows, -
The good old blood of Burgundy!"
C. A. M.