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XII

Till out strode Gismond; then I knew
That I was saved. I never met
His face before, but, at first view,

I felt quite sure that God had set
Himself to Satan; who would spend
A minute's mistrust on the end?

XIII.

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat
Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth
With one back-handed blow that wrote

In blood men's verdict there. North, south,
East, west, I looked. The lie was dead,
And damned, and truth stood up instead.

XIV.

This glads me most, that I enjoyed

The heart of the joy, with my content

In watching Gismond unalloyed

By any doubt of the event:

God took that on him-I was bid
Watch Gismond for my part: I did.

XV.

Did I not watch him while he let

His armourer just brace his greaves,

Rivet his hauberk, on the fret

The while! His foot.. my memory leaves

No least stamp out, nor how anon

He pulled his ringing gauntlets on.

*

XVI.

And e'en before the trumpet's sound
Was finished, prone lay the false knight,
Prone as his lie, upon the ground:

Gismond flew at him, used no sleight
O' the sword, but open-breasted drove,
Cleaving till out the truth he clove.

XVII.

Which done, he dragged him to my feet, And said, "Here die, but end thy breath In full confession, lest thou fleet

From my first, to God's second death! Say, hast thou lied?" And, “I have lied To God and her," he said, and died.

XVIII.

Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked

-What safe my heart holds, tho' no word

Could I repeat now, if I tasked

My powers for ever, to a third

Dear even as you are. Pass the rest

Until I sank upon his breast.

XIX.

Over my head his arm he flung

Against the world; and scarce I felt

His sword, that dripped by me and swung, A little shifted in its belt,

For he began to say the while

How south our home lay many a mile.

XX.

So 'mid the shouting multitude

We two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursued

Their life, untroubled as before

I vexed them.

Gauthier's dwelling-place

God lighten! May his soul find grace!

XXI.

Our elder boy has got the clear

Great brow; tho' when his brother's black Full eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here?

And have you brought my tercel back?

I just was telling Adela

How many birds it struck since May.

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

I.

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:

A mile or so away

On a little mound, Napoléon

Stood on our storming-day;

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms locked behind,

As if to balance the prone brow

Oppressive with its mind.

II.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,”–

Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew

Until he reached the mound.

III.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect

By just his horse's mane, a boy:

You hardly could suspect—
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)

You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

•6

IV.

Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace

We've got you Ratisbon !

The Marshal's in the market-place,

And you'll be there anon

To see your flag-bird flap his vans

Where I, to heart's desire,

Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans

Soared up again like fire.

V.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes

A film the mother eagle's eye

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When her bruised eaglet breathes:

'You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said:

"I'm killed, sire!" And, his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.

SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER.

I.

GR-R-R-there go, my heart's abhorrence!
Water your damned flower-pots, do!
If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence,
God's blood, would not mine kill you!

What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming?

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Oh, that rose has prior claims

Needs its leaden vase filled brimming?

Hell dry you up with its flames!

II.

At the meal we sit together:

Salve tibi! I must hear

Wise talk of the kind of weather,
Sort of season, time of year:
Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely
Dare we hope oak-galls, I doubt:

What's the Latin name for "parsley"?

What's the Greek name for Swine's Snout?

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