LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC.
My sword, that darts among them serpentwise—
And all their warriors fell back a space,
_ And all the air rang out with sudden cries,
Seeing the death and fury of my face,
And feeling the long sword sweep out and kill,
Till there was won the slippery path, the place
Whence I might sever the white cords, and fill
The ship with tangled wreckage of the sail.
All this I did, and bore the blade of ill
Back, dripping blood, to thee most firm and pale
Who held our rudder, all alone, and stood
Fierce and triumphant in the rising gale,
Bent to my sword, and kissed the stinging blood,
_ While the good ship leapt free upon the deep,
And felt the feet of the resistless flood
Run, and the fervour of the billows sweep
Under our keel—and we were clean away,
_ Laughing to see the foamheads sough and sleep,
As we kept pace with ocean all the day
And one long night of toil ; until the sun
Lit on these cliffs his morning beams that play
With our sails’ rent and rifted white, and run
Like summer lightning all about the deck,
And laugh upon the work my sword had done
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