And lowering crept away and left the field.
Then came the king’s son wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle shout
Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down,
And saved a great cause on that heroic day.
—Edward Rowland Sill.
A SONG.[27]
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;