 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
XV.
And Roland thought: ‘I surely die; but, ere I end,Let me be sure that thou art ended too, O friend!
For should a heathen hand grasp thee when I am clay,
My ghost would grieve full sore until the Judgment Day!’
Then to the marble steps, under the tall bare trees,
Trailing the mighty Sword, he crawl'd on hands and knees,
And on the slimy stone he struck the blade with might—
191
Wildly again he struck, and his sick head went round,
Again there sparkled fire, again rang hollow sound;
Ten times he struck, and threw strange echoes down the glade,
Yet still unbroken, sparkling fire, glitter'd the peerless blade!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |