Across his breast a crimson spot,
That in a quiver glowed,
The ruddy crested camp-fires shot,
As he to darkness rode.
XXI
He rode while omens called, beware
Old Kraken’s pledge of faith!
A smile and waving hand in air,
And outward flew the wraith.
XXII
Before pale morn had mixed with gold,
His army roared, and chilled,
As men who have a woe foretold,
And see it red fulfilled.
XXIII
Away and to his young wife speed,
And say that Honour’s dead!
Another word she will not need
To bow a widow’s head.
XXIV
Old Kraken roped his white moustache
Right, left, for savage glee:
—To swing him in his soldier’s sash
Were kind for such as he!