Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,—

"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword

for now;

My king is false, my hope betrayed! My father,—O the worth,

The glory, and the loveliness are passed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet;

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met!

Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then; for thee my fields were won;

And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,

Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier

train;

And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing warhorse led,

And sternly set them face to face, the king before the dead:

"Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?

Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this?

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought,-give answer, where are they?

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay;

"Into these glassy eyes put light;-be still! keep down thine ire!

Bid these white lips a blessing speak,-this earth is not my sire:

Give me back him for whom I strove,—for whom my

blood was shed.

Thou canst not?—and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed, his slack hand fell; upon the silent face

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place.

His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain:

His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.

25

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET

ALBERT GORTON GREENE

O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay,
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been
bent

By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

"They come around me here, and say my days of life are

That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no

more;

They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now. that I,

Their own liege lord and master born,-that I, ha! ha! must die.

"And what is death? I've dared him oft before the Paynim1 spear,

Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here?

I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot,

I'll try his might-I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.

"Ho! sound the tocsin 2 from my tower, and fire the culverin,— 3

Bid each retainer arm with speed,-call every vassal in, Up with my banner on the wall,-the banquet board

prepare;

Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then-the banquet forth was spread

And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread, While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed retainers poured,

On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board.

1. Paynim. Pagan, especially Mohammedan.

2. Tocsin. Alarm bell.

3. Culverin. A long cannon.

While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of

state,

Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion,*

sate.

"Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine;

There's life and strength in every drop,-thanksgiving to the vine!

Are ye all there, my vassals true?-mine eyes are waxing dim;

Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.

"You're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword

And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board;

I hear it faintly:-Louder yet!-What clogs my heavy breath?

Up all, and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto Death!'"

Bowl rang to bowl-steel clanged to steel-and rose a deafening cry

That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high:

"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?-Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?

Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!

"But I defy him:-let him come!" Down rang the massy

cup,

While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing halfway up;

4. Falchion. A sword

And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head,

There in his dark, carved oaken chair Old Rudiger sat, dead.

26

SPANISH WATERS

JOHN MASEFIELD

Spanish waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my

ears,

Like a slow sweet piece of music from the gray for

gotten years;

Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bringing weary thoughts to me

Of the sandy beach at Muertos,1 where I would that I could be.

There's a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops

to roar,

And it's there we came to anchor, and it's there we went

ashore,

Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees,

Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas.

We anchored at Los Muertos when the dipping sun was red,

We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head; And before the mist was on the Cay,2 before the day was done,

We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we

1.

had won.

Muertos. Islands off the southern coast of Cuba.

2. Cay. Bay.