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'Where the shattered columns lie, Showing Carthage once had been, If the wandering Santon's eye

Our mysterious rites hath seen, Oft he cons the prayer of death,

To the nations preaches doom, "Azrael's brand hath left the sheath, Moslems, think upon the tomb !"

'Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, Ours the hydra of the fen, Ours the tiger of the brake,

All that plague the sons of men. Ours the tempest's midnight wrack, Pestilence that wastes by dayDread the race of Zaharak ! Fear the spell of Dahomay!'

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quest,

I swore upon the rood

Neither to stop nor turn nor rest, For evil or for good. My forward path too well I ween Lies yonder fearful ranks between; For man unarmed 't is bootless hope With tigers and with fiends to cope Yet, if I turn, what waits me there Save famine dire and fell despair ? — Other conclusion let me try, Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. For ward lies faith and knightly fame; Behind are perjury and shame. In Life or death I hold my word!' With that he drew his trusty sword, Caught down a banner from the wall, And entered thus the fearful hall.

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On high each wayward maiden threw
Her swarthy arm with wild halloo !
On either side a tiger sprung
Against the leftward foe he flung
The ready banner to engage
With tangling folds the brutal rage;
The right-hand monster in mid air
He struck so fiercely and so fair
Through gullet and through spinal bone
The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone.
His grisly brethren ramped and yelled,
But the slight leash their rage withheld,
Whilst 'twixt their ranks the dangerous

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Firmly though swift the champion strode.
Safe to the gallery's bound he drew,
Safe passed an open portal through;
And when against pursuit he flung
The gate, judge if the echoes rung!
Onward his daring course he bore,

While, mixed with dying growl and roar,
Wild jubilee and loud hurra

Pursued him on his venturous way.

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'See the treasures Merlin piled,

Portion meet for Arthur's child.
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream,

Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream !'

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And oft in such a dreamy mood
The half-shut eye can frame
Fair apparitions in the wood,
As if the Nymphs of field and flood
In gay procession came.
Are these of such fantastic mould,
Seen distant down the fair arcade,
These maids enlinked in sister-fold,
Who, late at bashful distance staid,
Now tripping from the greenwood shade,
Nearer the musing champion draw,
And in a pause of seeming awe

Again stand doubtful now ?—
Ah, that sly panse of witching powers!
That seems to say, 'To please be ours,
Be yours to tell us how.'

Their hue was of the golden glow
That sons of Candahar bestow,
O'er which in slight suffusion flows

A frequent tinge of paly rose;

Their limbs were fashioned fair and free

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'Stay, then, gentle warrior, stay,
Rest till evening steal on day;
Stay, O, stay!-in yonder bowers
We will braid thy locks with flowers,
Spread the feast and fill the wine,
Charm thy ear with sounds divine,
Weave our dances till delight
Yield to languor, day to night.
Then shall she you most approve
Sing the lays that best you love,
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread,
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head,
Till the weary night be o'er -

Gentle warrior, wouldst thou more.
Wouldst thou more, fair warrior, — she
Is slave to Love and slave to thee.'

XXXII

O, do not hold it for a crime

In the bold hero of my rhyme,
For Stoic look

And meet rebuke
He lacked the heart or time;

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As round the band of sirens trip,
He kissed one damsel's laughing lip,
And pressed another's proffered hand,
Spoke to them all in accents bland,
But broke their magic circle through; 700
'Kind maids,' he said, 'adieu, adieu!
My fate, my fortune, forward lies.'
He said and vanished from their eyes;
But, as he dared that darksome way,
Still heard behind their lovely lay:
Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!
Go where the feelings of the heart
With the warm pulse in concord move;
Go where Virtue sanctions Love!'

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Thus while she sung the venturous knight
Has reached a bower where milder light
Through crimson curtains fell;
Such softened shade the hill receives,
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 820
Upon its western swell.

That bower, the gazer to bewitch,
Had wondrous store of rare and rich

As e'er was seen with eye;
For there by magic skill, iwis,
Form of each thing that living is

Was limned in proper dye.
All seemed to sleep - the timid hare
On form, the stag upon his lair,
The eagle in her eyrie fair

Between the earth and sky.
But what of pictured rich and rare
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where,
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair,

He saw King Arthur's child! Doubt and anger and dismay From her brow had passed away, Forgot was that fell tourney-day, For as she slept she smiled:

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