And his faltering hand could not grasp it well—
From the pale oak-wreath, with a clash it fell
Through the chamber of the dead!
The deep tomb rang with the heavy sound,
And the urn lay shiver’d in fragments round;
And a rush, as of tempests, quench’d the fire,
And the scatter’d dust of his warlike sire
Was strewn on the champion’s head.
One moment—and all was still
In the slumberer’s ancient hall,