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Wherever the figure of Death is introduced, he is accompanied with the motto “Amort, amort.”

And all his soul did wax amort To stars, to hills, to slades, to streams, And it but held that sorceress fair As one of dreams.

It shall kindle an icy thought to courage, 10 Not boy-fancies alone, but every frozen Flank immovable, all amort to pleasure.

For soul and sense had waxed amort To wold and weald, to slade and stream; And all he heard was her soft word As one adream.

From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone,   Crowned with a woodman's fort, The sentinel looks on a land of dole,     Like Paran, all amort.