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Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked,
Larger than human on the frozen hills.
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.
Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves
And barren chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black cliff clanged round him, as he based
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
Sharp-smitten with the dint of arméd heels-
And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,
And the long glories of the winter moon.

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms, Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream, by these

Three Queens with crowns of gold, — and from

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword,
And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great
brand

Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon,
And flashing round and round, and whirled in an
arch,

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock
By night, with noises of the northern sea.
So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur :
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
And lightly went the other to the King.

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker

breath:

"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :
"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
Not though I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
But when I looked again, behold an arm,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him

Three times, and drew him under in the mere."

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard: "My end drawsnigh; 't is time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,

And bear me to the margin; yet I fear
My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."

So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully regarded through his tears,
And would have spoken, but he found not words;
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
And rising bore him through the place of tombs.

But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sighed the King,
Muttering and murmuring at his ear "Quick,
quick!

them rose

A cry that shivered to the tingling stars,
And, as it were one voice, an agony
Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills
All night in a waste land, where no one comes,
Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmured Arthur, "Place me in the
barge";

There those three

So to the barge they came.
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and
Queens

wept.

But she that rose the tallest of them all,
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,
And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his
hands,

And called him by his name, complaining loud,
And dropping bitter tears against his brow

Striped with dark blood: for all his face was

white

And colorless, and like the withered moon
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ;
And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls-
That made his forehead like a rising sun
High from the dais-throne were parched with
dust;

Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,
Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed
his lips.

So like a shattered column lay the King;
Not like that Arthur, who, with lance in rest,
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.
Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: "Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?

I fear it is too late, and I shall die."

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?

For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world;
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by

prayer

Wherefore, let thy

Than this world dreams of.
voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them
friend?

-

For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seest, if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) –
To the island-valley of Avilion ;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

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So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted

swan,

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

"

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his hand.

The gates were then thrown open, and forth at once they rushed.

THE SALLY OF THE CID FROM THE The outposts of the Moorish host back to the CASTLE OF ALCOCES. camp were pushed;

The camp was all in tumult, and there was such

FROM THE POEM OF THE CID."

a thunder

THEY fain would sally forth, but he, the noble Cid,
Accounted it as rashness, and constantly forbid.

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cymbals and of drums, as if earth would cleave in sunder.

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There you might see the Moors arming them- | And many a Moorish shield lie shattered on the selves in haste,

plain, And the two main battles how they were forming The pennons that were white marked with a

crimson stain, Horsemen and footmen mixt, a countless troop The horses running wild whose riders had been and vast.

slain. The Moors are moving forward, the battle soon The Christians call upon St. James, the Moors must join.

upon Mahound, "My men, stand here in order, ranged upon a line! There were thirteen hundred of them slain on a Let not a man move from his rank before I give little spot of ground. the sign."

Minaya Alvar Fañez smote with all his might, Pero Bermuez heard the word, but he could not He went as he was wont, and was foremost in the refrain.

fight; He held the banner in his hand, he gave his There was Galin Garcia, of courage firm and

horse the rein ; "You see yon foremost squadron there, the Felez Munioz, the Cid's own cousin dear; thickest of the foes,

Antolinez of Burgos, a hardy knight and keen, Noble Cid, God be your aid, for there your banner Munio Gustioz, his pupil that had been ;

The Cid on his gilded saddle above them all was Let him that serves and honors it show the duty

seen ; that he owes."

There was Martin Munioz that ruled in MontEarnestly the Cid called out, “For Heaven's sake, mayor ; be still !”

There were Alvar Fañez and Alvar Salvador ; Bermuez cried, “I cannot hold,” so eager was his These were the followers of the Cid, with many will.

others more, He spurred his horse and drove him on amid the In rescue of Bermuez and the standard that he Moorish rout;

bore. They strove to win the banner, and compast him Minaya is dismounted, his courser has been slain,

He fights upon his feet, and smites with might Had not his armor been so true, he had lost and main. either life or limb.

The Cid came allin haste to help him to horse again. The Cid called out again, “For Heaven's sake, He saw a Moor well mounted, thereof he was

full fain ; succor him!” Their shields before their breasts, forth at once Through the girdle at a stroke he cast him to the

plain; Their lances in the rest levelled fair and low, He called to Minaya Fañezand reached him out the Their banners and their crests waving in a row,

rein Their heads all stooping down toward the saddle

Mount and ride, Minaya, you are my right hand; bow.

We shall have need of you to-day, these Moors The Cid was in the midst, his shout was heard

will not disband !” afar,

Minaya leapt upon the horse, his sword was in "I am Rui Diaz, the Champion of Bivar ;

his hand, Strike amongst them, gentlemen, for sweet Nothing that came near him could resist him or mercy's sake!"

withstand ; There where Bermuez fought amidst the foe they All that fall within his reach he despatches as

brake, Three hundred bannered knights, – it was a The Cid rode to King Fariz, and struck at him gallant show:

three blows; Three hundred Moors they killed, a man with The third was far the best, it forced the blood to every blow;

flow: When they wheeled and turned, as many more The stream ran from his side, and stained his lay slain,

arms below; You might see them raise their lances and level The King caught round the rein, and turned his

them again ; There you might see the breastplates, how they The Cid has won the battle with that single blow. were cleft in twain,

about ;

they go,

he goes.

back to go.

By an anonymous translator in the appendix to SOUTHEY'S

translation of "The Chronicle of the Cid,"

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With

The mother who conceals her grief

Which to her breast hu on the presses,
Then buathes a fene brave words and brief
Kissing the
The painot brow the blesses,

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To know the hain that weight rponder,
Sheds holy blood as cer the and
Received on Freedome field of l

honore V.

Buchanan

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POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR.

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