  A noble pride on every feature, His forehead stamp’d with thought mature, He could subdue each mortal creature, Bertrand de Born, the troubadour. How wondrously his sweet notes caught her, Plantagenet the Lion’s queen! Both sons as well as lovely daughter He sang into his net, I ween. The father too he fool’d discreetly! Hush’d was the monarch’s wrath and scorn On hearing him discourse so sweetly, The troubadour, Bertrand de Born. |
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