Lo! from the sands another face, The last that follow'd through the deep, Comes on from out the lonesome place. And Vasques, too, survives! But where? His last bold follower lies there, Thrown straight across old Morgan's track, As if to check him, bid him back. He stands, he does not dare to stir, He watches by his child asleep, He fears, for her: but only her. The man who ever mock'd at death, He hardly dares to draw his breath. Beyond, and still as black despair, A man rose up, stood dark and tall, Stretch'd out his neck, reach'd forth, let fall Dark oaths, and Death stood waiting there. He drew his blade, came straight as death Right up before the follower, The last of Morgan's sable men, While Morgan watched aside by her, And saw his foeman wag his beard And fiercest visage ever seen. The while that dead man lay between. I think no man there drew a breath, I know that no man quail'd or fear'd. The tawny dead man stretch'd between, And Vasques set his foot thereon. The stars were seal'd, the moon was gone, The very darkness cast a shade. The scene was rather heard than seen, The rattle of a single blade.... A right foot rested on the dead, A black hand reach'd and clutch'd a beard, Then neither prayed, nor dreamed of hope ... A fierce face reach'd, a fierce face peer'd ... No bat went whirling overhead, No star fell out of Ethiope.... The dead man lay between them there, The two men glared as tigers glare, The black man held him by the beard. He wound his hand, he held him fast, And tighter held, as if he fear'd The man might 'scape him at the last. Whiles Morgan did not speak or stir, But stood in silent watch by her. Not long.... A light blade lifted, thrust, A blade that leapt and swept about, So wizard-like, like wand in spell, So like a serpent's tongue thrust out ... Thrust twice, thrust thrice, thrust as he fell, Thrust through until it touch'd the dust. Yet ever as he thrust and smote, The black hand like an iron band Did tighten to the gasping throat. He fell, but did not loose his hand; The two fell dead upon the sand. Lo! up and from the fallen forms Two ghosts came forth like cloud of storms. Two tall ghosts stood, and looking back, With hands all bloody, and hands clutch'd, Strode on together, till they touch'd, Along the lonesome, chartless track, Where dim Plutonian darkness fell, Then touch'd the outer rim of hell, And looking back their great despair Sat sadly down as resting there. XLIV.