Part 4 (1/2)

I have drawn my blade where the lightnings meet But the ending is the same: Who loseth to G.o.d as the sword blades lose Shall win at the end of the game.

For G.o.d, our G.o.d, is a gallant foe that playeth behind the veil, Whom G.o.d deigns not to overthrow Hath need of triple mail.

For E. Mc C

_That was my counter-blade under Leonardo Terrone,_ _Master of Fence_.

Gone while your tastes were keen to you, Gone where the grey winds call to you, By that high fencer, even Death, Struck of the blade that no man parrieth; Such is your fence, one saith, One that hath known you.

Drew you your sword most gallantly Made you your pa.s.s most valiantly 'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death.

Gone as a gust of breath Faith! no man tarrieth, ”_Se il cor ti manca_” but it failed thee not!

”_Non ti fidar_” it is the sword that speaks ”_In me_.”[6]

Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade 'Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid As memorable broken blades that be Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.

As old Toledos past their days of war Are kept mnemonic of the strokes they bore, So art thou with us, being good to keep In our heart's sword-rack, though thy sword-arm sleep.

ENVOI

Struck of the blade that no man parrieth Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all, 'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death, Behold the s.h.i.+eld! He shall not take thee all.

[Footnote 6: Sword-rune ”If thy heart fail thee trust not in me.”]

At the Heart o' Me

A.D. 751

With ever one fear at the heart o' me Long by still sea-coasts coursed my Grey-Falcon, And the twin delights of sh.o.r.e and sea were mine, Sapphire and emerald with fine pearls between.

Through the pale courses of the land-caressing in-streams Glided my barge and the kindly strange peoples Gave to me laugh for laugh, and wine for my tales of wandering.

And the cities gave me welcome and the fields free pa.s.sage, With ever one fear at the heart o' me.

An thou should'st grow weary ere my returning, An ”_they_” should call to thee from out the borderland, What should avail me booty of whale-ways?

What should avail me gold rings or the chain-mail?

What should avail me the many-twined bracelets?

What should avail me, O my beloved, Here in this ”Middan-gard”[7]