And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye,
Down came the blow! but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

SIR W. SCOTT,

CXVIII

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever were still.

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,

But through them there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beaten surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail,
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal,
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

LORD BYRON.

CXIX

THE BLACK KNIGHT.

'Twas Pentecost, the feast of gladness,
When woods and fields put off all sadness,
Thus began the king and spake:
"So from the halls

Of ancient Hofburg's walls,
A luxuriant spring shall break.”

Drums and trumpets echo loudly,
Wave the crimson banners proudly,

From balcony the king looks on;
In the play of spears,

Fell all the cavaliers,
Before the monarch's stalwart son.

To the barrier of the fight,

Rode at last a sable Knight.

"Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say! "Should I speak it here,

Ye would stand aghast with fear

I'm a Prince of mighty sway!"

When he rode into the lists,

The arch of heaven grew black with mists,

And the castle 'gan to rock.

At the first blow,

Fell the youth from saddle-bow,

Hardly rises from the shocks.

Pipe and viol call the dancers,

Torch-light through the high halls glances;

Waves a mighty shadow in;

With manner bland

Doth ask the maiden's hand,

Doth with her the dance begin.

Danced in sable iron sark,

Danced a measure weird and dark,
Coldly clasped her limbs around.

From breast and hair

Down fall from her the fair

Flowerets, faded, to the ground.

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.-

"Twixt son and daughter all distraught,
With mournful mind

The ancient King reclined, Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,
But the guest a beaker took:
"Golden wine will make you
The children drank,

whole!"

Gave many a courteous thank; "O that draught was very cool! "

Each the father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter; and their faces
Colourless grow utterly.

Whichever way

Looks the fear-struck father gray, He beholds his children die.

"Woe! the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth;
Take me too, the joyless father!
Spake the grim Guest,

From his hollow, cavernous breast:

"Roses in the spring I gather!"

LONGFELLOW (from the German of Uhland).

CXX

THE HERMIT.

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
Remote from man, with God he passed his days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seemed heaven itself, till one suggestion rose;
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenour of his soul is lost:
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm nature's image on its watery breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours glow;
But if a stone the gentle scene divide,

Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
And glimmering fragments of a broken sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.

To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
To find if books, or swains, report it right;
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew,)