XXIII

Gallant Maurice next sank faltering with a death wound ’neath his hair, But still fighting on till Sassard pressed across him up the stair. Generous Clement followed after, crying as his spirit passed, “Sons of Germain to the rescue, and be loyal to the last!” Gentle Jaspar, lordly Clarence, Sessamine the doughty brand, Even Henri who had yielded ne’er before to mortal hand; One by one they fall and perish, while the vaunting foemen pour Through the breach and up the courtway to the very turret’s door. Enguerrand and Stephen only now were left of all that nine, To protect the single stairway from the traitor’s fell design; But with might as ’twere of thirty, did they wield the axe and brand, Striving in their desperation the fierce onslaught to withstand. But what man of power so godlike he can stay the billow’s wrack, Or with single-handed weapon hold an hundred foemen back! As the sun turned sadly westward, with a wild despairing cry, Stephen bowed his noble forehead and sank down on earth to die. “Ah ha!” then cried cruel Sassard with his foot upon the stair, “Have I come to thee, my boaster?” and he whirled his sword in air. “Thou who pratest of thy power to protect her to the death, What think’st thou now of Sassard and the wind’s aspiring breath?” “What I think let this same show you,” answered fiery Enguerrand, And he poised his lofty battle-ax with sure and steady hand; “Now as Heaven loveth justice, may this deathly weapon fall On the murderer of my brothers and th’ undoer of us all.”