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There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mari

ners,

Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and

thought with me,

That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,

old;

you and I are

Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs;
the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we

are,

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. Alfred Tennyson.

THE DUEL, FROM "SOHRAB AND RUSTUM"

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, And he, too, drew his sword; at once they rushed

Together as two eagles on one prey

Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the East, one from the West; their shields

Dash'd with a clang together, and a din
Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
Make often in the forest's heart at morn,
Of hewing axes, crashing trees — - such blows
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd.
And you would say that sun and stars took part
In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud
Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the sun
Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose
Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,
And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair.

In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone;

For both the on-looking hosts on either hand
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.
But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot

eyes

And laboring breath; first Rustum struck the shield

Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-piked

spear

Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,

And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,

Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the

crest

He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,

Never till now defiled, sank to the dust;

And Rustum bow'd his head; but then the gloom

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,

Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry;

No horse's cry was that, most like the roar
Of some pain'd desert lion, who all day
Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side,
And comes at night to die upon the sand.
The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for
fear,

And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream.

But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rushed

on,

And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd
His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,
And in the hand the hilt remained alone.
Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful

eyes

Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,

And shouted: Rustum!-Sohrab heard that shout,

And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one step, And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form;

And then he stood bewildered, and he dropp'd His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.

He reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground.

And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,

And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all
The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair —
Saw Rustum standing safe upon his feet,
And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.

Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began:-
"Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.
Or else that the great Roman would come down
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would

move

His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.

And then that all the Tartar host would praise
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame,
To glad thy father in his weak old age.

Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man!
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old."

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And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied: "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.

Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I match'd with ten such men as thee, And I were that which till to-day I was,

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