University of Virginia Library

THE STORY OF THE SWORD.

Sabre, hanging on the wall
Of this silent German hall,
(Hilt of gold and sheath of leather—
Strange these two should mate together!)
On your scabbard there is dust,
On your blade are spots of rust;
Tell me how and why and when
You were felt and used by men.
Tell of battles lost and won;
Tell your story, lightning's son!”
“Stranger, wandering in this hall,
Thus I answer to your call;
Thus my voice recites the story
Of my one day's battle, gory;
Why I slumber in the dust;
When my blade was marked by rust;
How I flashed in keen-edged wrath
On my owner's devious path,
In one terrible conflict borne,
Never since by mortals worn.
“By the flame begot on ore,
Born within the furnace roar,

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Forged with ave, rolled with credo,
Came my metal to Toledo.
There they fashioned well my blade;
There my hilt and sheath were made;
There an old and proud grandee,
From my fellows choosing me,
Sent me with a friendly line
To the Prince von Dietrichstein.
“Said the Prince, when me he saw:
‘'Tis a blade without a flaw,
Decked too fine for age to wear it,
And I have no son to bear it.
Death is coming sure and swift;
Mine is dole and prayer and shrift
From my soul its sins to purge,
Here upon the next world's verge.
Take this weapon to the hall;
Hang it high upon the wall.’
“Little thought the Prince that he
Soon in fight should brandish me,
Knowing not that God disposes
Otherwise than man proposes.
Even as he spoke, the blare
Of a trumpet stirred the air,
And a rider came to say,
Scarce a dozen leagues away,
Full a thousand men in force
Were the Magyars, foot and horse.
“‘What!’ he cried. ‘and would they dare
Track the old wolf to his lair.
Deeming he may safe be hunted.
Now with age his fangs are blunted?

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Clang the great bell! Summon here
What of vassals may be near!
Man the walls and let them see
Dietrich's banner floating free!
Let them know that Dietrich's rock
Well abides the rudest shock!’
“Seven days the Magyars plied
Force in vain on every side;
Seven days their cannon thundered;
On the eighth the leagured wondered
As they saw the Magyar foe
Off in headlong hurry go.
They had heard the Archduke John
Was in force their track upon,
And, though brave, they dared not stay
When grim John was on the way.
“‘Out!’ cried Dietrichstein, ‘for these
Ne'er from hence must ride in ease.
Saddle horses, bare your sabres,
Hot pursue the fleeing stabbers.
Spanish sword, you now may show
If your steel be good or no.
To my hand your hilt be wed,
As my vassals here I head.
Forward! charge! and let them feel
Rain of lead and storm of steel!’
“Then the sound of hoofs was heard;
Then the air with strife was stirred;
Then the sight of sabres flashing;
Then the sound of sabres clashing.
Here ran many a riderless horse,
Here lay many a soulless corse;

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Curses mixed with deadly blows;
None asked quarter from his foes,
As upon the shattered line
Smote the men of Dietrichstein.
“Coolly through the din and jar
Rode a giant-like huszar.
Marked he well those white locks flowing,
And my bright blade ever going.
Scorning others in the fray
Blocked he there the Prince's way.
‘Ah!’ he cried, ‘old man, at length
Rank is front to front with strength;
Here the strongest arm is lord—
Vengeance lies within my sword!’
“Glared the Prince; a tremor came,
Not with fear, across his frame.
‘Still alive?’ he asked. ‘His brother?
No! a suckling with thy mother
When the block its victim won.
Who then art thou, man?’ ‘His son!
I am he whose sire your hate
Bore to undeservèd fate.
Son of him your anger slew,
I am his avenger, too!’
“Crossed their sabres. One was old
The story of the sword is told.
Failed for want of males the line
Of the princely Dietrichstein.”