True it was, as the songs relate, {121c}
No one's steeds {121d} overtook Marchleu;
The lances {121e} hurled by the commanding earl,
In his prancing career, {121f} strewed a thick path;
As he had been reared for slaughter by the aid of my mother, {121g}
Furious was the stroke of his sword whilst lending support to others;
{121h}
Ashen shafts were scattered from the grasp of his hand, {122a}
Above the narrow summit {122b} of the solemn pile, {122c}
The place where one caused the smoke to ascend; {122d}
He would slaughter with the blade, whilst his arms were full of furze;
{122e}
As when a reaping comes in the interval of fine weather, {122f}
Would Marchleu {123a} make the blood to flow.