"This land has graves by thousands

more

Than that where Regnar lies.
When conquests fade, and rule is o'er,
The sod must close your eyes.
How soon, who knows? Not chief,
nor bard;

And yet to me 'tis given,

To see your foreheads deeply scarred, And guess the doom of Heaven.

"I may not read or when or how, But, Earls and Kings, be sure I see a blade o'er every brow, Where pride now sits secure. Fill high the cups, raise loud the strain!

When chief and monarch fall, Their names in song shall breathe again,

And thrill the feastful hall."

the song, "To hear the strife once more. The mace, the axe, they rest too long; Earth cries, My thirst is sore. More blithely twang the strings of bows

Than strings of harps in glee;
Red wounds are lovelier than the rose,
Or rosy lips to me.

"Oh! fairer than a field of flowers, When flowers in England grew, Would be the battle's marshalled powers,

The plain of carnage new.
With all its deaths before my soul
The vision rises fair;

Raise loud the song, and drain the bowl!

I would that I were there!"

Loud rang the harp, the minstrel's eye Rolled fiercely round the throng;

It seemed two crashing hosts were nigh,

Whose shock aroused the song.
A golden cup King Guthrum gave
To him who strongly played;
And said, "I won it from the slave
Who once o'er England swayed."

King Guthrum cried, ""Twas Alfred's own;

Thy song befits the brave:
The King who cannot guard his
throne

Nor wine nor song shall have."
The minstrel took the goblet bright,
And said, "I drink the wine
To him who owns by justest right
The cup thou bid'st be mine.

"To him, your Lord, Oh shout ye all!

His meed be deathless praise!
The King who dares not nobly fall,
Dies basely all his days."

"The praise thou speakest," Guthrum said,

"With sweetness fills mine ear;
For Alfred swift before me fled,
And left me monarch here.
The royal coward never dared
Beneath mine eye to stand.

Oh, would that now this feast he shared,

And saw me rule his land!"

Then stern the minstrel rose, and spake,

And gazed upon the King, "Not now the golden cup I take, Nor more to thee I sing. Another day, a happier hour, Shall bring me here again: The cup shall stay in Guthrum's power

Till I demand it then."

The Harper turned and left the shed,

Nor bent to Guthrum's crown;
And one who marked his visage said
It wore a ghastly frown.

The Danes ne'er saw that Harper more,

For soon as morning rose,

Upon their camp King Alfred bore, And slew ten thousand foes.

JOHN STERLING

GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS.

KING Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill, Surveying all his leaguer, and the ramparts of Seville;

The sight was grand when Ferdinand by proud Seville was lying, O'er tower and tree far off to see the Christian banners flying.

Down chanced the king his eye to fling, where far the camp below

Two gentlemen along the glen were riding soft and slow:

As void of fear each cavalier seemed to be riding there,

As some strong hound may pace around the roebuck's thicket lair.

It was Don Garci Perez; and he would breathe the air,

And he had ta'en a knight with him that as lief had been elsewhere:

For soon this knight to Garci said, "Ride, ride, or we are lost!

I see the glance of helm and lance, it is the Moorish host!"

The Lord of Vargas turned him round, his trusty squire was near; The helmet on his brow he bound, his gauntlet grasped the spear; With that upon his saddle-tree he planted him right steady, "Now come," quoth he, "whoe'er they be, I trow they'll find us ready."

By this the knight that rode with him had turned his horse's head, And up the glen in fearful trim unto

the camp had fled.

"Ha! gone?" quoth Garci Perez:

he smiled, and said no more, But slowly on with his esquire rode as he rode before.

It was the Count Lorenzo, just then happened so,

He took his stand by Ferdinand, and with him gazed below;

"My liege," quoth he, "seven Moors

I see a-coming from the wood, Now bring they all the blows they may, I trow they'll find as good;

For it is Don Garci Perez, - if his cognizance they know,

I guess it will be little pain to give them blow for blow."

The Moors from forth the greenwood came riding one by one,

A gallant troop with armor resplendent in the sun;

Full haughty was their bearing, as o'er the sward they came; But the calm Lord of Vargas, his march was still the same.

They stood drawn up in order, while past them all rode he; But when upon his shield they saw the sable blazonry, And the wings of the Black Eagle,

that o'er his crest were spread, They knew Don Garci Perez, and never word they said.

He took the casque from off his brow, and gave it to the squire; "My friend," quoth he, "no need I see why I my brows should tire."

But as he doffed the helmet he saw his scarf was gone,

"I've dropped it, sure," quoth Garci, when I put my helmet on."

He looked around and saw the scarf, for still the Moors were near, And they had picked it from the

sward, and looped it on a spear. "These Moors," quoth Garci Perez,

"uncourteous Moors they be,Now, by my soul, the scarf they stole, yet durst not question

me!

Now reach once more my helmet." The esquire said him nay, "For a silken string why should ye fling perchance your life away ?"

"I had it from my lady," quoth Garci, "long ago,

And never Moor that scarf, be sure in proud Seville shall show."