For all the gold of Europe. " Can it be," He asked the maid, " that you have chosen me ?" She smiled upon him. " Baldwin, be my knight." " By heaven," he cried, "mine is this jewel so bright." But then the Prince, her sire—who liked not well, That on the poorest lord her favour fell— Angry and wrath, cried, " Foolish daughter, know, Your idle words like running water flow, And matter nothing, until I have willed." " Father," cried Ivorine, " I am your child; And yet, alas ! through my words must you die. Yes ; for know well that Cod who dwells on high Hates those who own him not : and so hates you. That lying demon whom you hold for true, And so teach others, has deceived your heart. But as for me, ah ! let me take my part With those who trust in Christ, and place my faith In that sweet pardon won us by his death. Father, renounce thy superstitions vain ; And leave this place, or die, if you remain." Fool !" cried the Prince, " I curse thee from this day." Then to the Caliph : " Slay my daughter, slay. Strike quickly, lest some evil chance to you. My daughter kill." His sword the Caliph drew, And struck—but not fair Ivorine. The blade Smote down the wrathful Prince, and spared the maid. " Eight well," cried Poliban, "hast thou obeyed."