“Whose are these antient walls, I pray?”
The sullen stranger ’gan to say:
“Sir, know you not these towers and halls
Watch where the foaming Conway falls?
Who should these walls and towers own?
And the wide woods and forest round,
Even to Snowdon’s utmost bound,
Save the brave lord of Eglamore?”
The knight explained his ignorance,
He was a wanderer late from France.
The page surveyed him o’er again;
He thought the wily knight did feign:
A deadly hue was on his cheek;
His looks spoke more than words may speak.
Yet to the page, though much it told,
He read not all it might unfold.