"There, amid the clash and clang of sword and shield, I strove with Death-- That I conquered, ye may see; and now I yield to him my breath Where there is no rescue, yield! and, as one would call a bride, So I bid the grisly monarch smilingly unto my side. "Shall I yield my broad estates, my castles and my manor lands, To the harpies of the law, to hold them with unhallowed hands? Shall I send my youthful heir forth with a stain upon his crest? No! my eaglet yet shall reign an eagle in his parent nest. "Lords and judges, I have done: no further words shall pass my lips, Save prayers to Heaven, that my soul may, sun-like, rise from death's eclipse." Silently, he braved them still; and, sighing, sad, and full of gloom, His judges sent him forth to struggle with the sharp and lingering doom. Did he tremble at their sentence? Not a muscle quivered, not A sign to mark he heard, save on his cheek one purple spot: Statelier yet than ever, firmer, with a long triumphant breath, Roland, smiling on his judges, sternly walked to certain death. PART IV. In his cell the knight is lying, naked, fettered foot and hand; Bound unto the rocky ground with many an iron link and band; On him lie the piles of granite, pressing, pressing; yet he still Looks on death with lofty eye--so giant is his mighty will. Day by day, he lay and suffered, wrung with agony, but content-- Day by day, though hard to bear was his grievous punishment-- Never once, though, hour on hour, they piled the jagged granite higher On his quivering limbs, he murmured; yet his very veins were fire. Once, however, came his jailer, saying that his nephew sought His presence; and the knight, consenting, in his brother's son was brought: "Uncle Roland," quoth he, weeping, "what is this that I have done? Curses, curses on my head! curse, uncle, curse thy brother's son! Mine the tongue that wrought this evil--mine the false and slanderous tongue That done to death the Lady Gwineth--O! my soul is sadly wrung!" "Demon, devil!" groaned the warrior--"devil of the evil eye! Look upon the awful horror wrought by thy atrocious lie. Tell me? was it all a falsehood? Tell me, was it all--all--all? Speak! and let these prison walls, oppressed with horror, on thee fall!" "All was false! Mine, too the ambush; for I sought to grasp thy lands-- Sought to win the Lady Gwineth, with thy blood upon my hands. But she drove me forth with scorn; and then I coined the lying tale-- O! forgive me, Uncle Roland! give me leave to weep and wail; Give me leave to sit in sackcloth, heaping ashes on my head; Mourning in some craggy cavern for the early lost and dead." "Unexampled liar and traitor! first of all our noble name Guilty of so black a treason! first to stain our shield with shame! Hence! away! I--No! repent! begone! and pray for my repose: Life on both of us too soon for our grievous crimes will close.