XIX.
Scarce Roland now can trust his eyes,
The sight his wit defying;
The hand and head, his good blade’s prize,
No longer there are lying.
Both spear and sword and arms are gone,
And shield whereon the jewel shone,
The trunk alone remaining.
XX.
Earl Milo gazed upon the dead,
And at the huge corse wonder’d.
“A lengthy log without the head,—
How tall before ’twas sunder’d!
Here lies the foe; asleep! ah, shame!
I’ve lost both victory and fame,
And live for aye dishonour’d!”
XXI.
King Karl came out before his hall,
His trusty peers expecting,
Afraid lest harm might them befal;
Then forth his gaze directing,
“Say, see I aught? Aye, by my crown,
Duke Haimon’s riding through the town,
His spear the foe’s head bearing.”
XXII.
Duke Haimon came in cheerless mood,
His lance was lowly drooping;
The giant’s head, all red with blood,
He lower’d, humbly stooping.
“I found it in the wood,” he said,
And fifty steps beyond the head
The headless trunk was lying.”
XXIII.
The bishop soon was seen to bear
The giant’s glove steel-woven;
The stiff and stark hand still was there
That Roland’s sword had sloven.
“A relic of great price!” he cried;
“I found it in the woodland wide,
Cut from the arm that own’d it!”
XXIV.
Next came the bold Bavarian duke,
The giant’s spear-shaft dragging.
“I found it in the forest, look!
No wonder I come lagging;
With sweat and toil I’ve brought the spear;
A cup of my Bavarian beer
Right gladly I’d be drinking!”
XXV.
Count Richard next approach’d his lord,
Beside his charger striding,
Upon the steed the giant’s sword
And heavy harness riding.
“Who will,” he said, “among the trees,
May find more arms as big as these,
Far more than I could carry.”
XXVI.
Then Count Garin the king espies,
The giant’s buckler swinging.
“He has the shield—his is the prize,
He comes the jewel bringing.”
“The shield I have; the gem is gone;
Another hand has won the stone,
And wrenched it from its setting.”
XXVII.
Earl Milo next came t’wards the hall,
In sorrow slowly riding;
He let his old head lowly fall,
His shamed visage hiding.
Still Roland rode behind his sire,
The pointed spear, like trusty squire,
And heavy buckler bearing.
XXVIII.
They near’d the hall; he nothing spoke;
The gate about to enter,
His father’s shield he turn’d, and broke
The boss from out the centre;
The giant’s gem he set thereon;
With dazzling sheen the jewel shone,
As shines the sun of summer.
XXIX.
And when the king the light descried
In Milo’s buckler glowing,
“’Tis Milo slew the foe,” he cried;
“He comes the token shewing;
’Tis Milo smote the giant dead,
And lopped off hand, and lopped off head,
The priceless jewel taking.”
XXX.
The earl beheld the gem that blazed:
His eyes could scarce believe it;
“Say, stripling,” cried he, all amazed,
“Of whom didst thou receive it?”
“Chide not, my sire; God gave me might,
I slew the giant in the fight;
The while you slept I won it!”
HORSES AND HORSE COPERS.
Every now and then some question comes on for public discussion in the most mysterious manner; it rises by imperceptible gradations, and gradually involves the newspaper and literary press in its discussion. Of late the question of the day has been that of horses. Have horses deteriorated? Is our system of handicapping leading to the production of worthless weedy animals? Is Ireland losing all her best blood? The vehemence with which these questions have been discussed shows the interest the national mind takes in them, and the wonderful diversity of opinion that is entertained upon them.
Whilst, therefore, the public attention is thus directed to the noble animal, we may perhaps be permitted to say a few words respecting them without touching the more prominent points in dispute. The Londoner, whether his avocation lies among horseflesh or not, believes he knows something about the matter, and perhaps with some reason,—for is there not a permanent horse-show in Hyde Park every season, where he sees finer specimens of the animal, and in greater numbers, than the world can show besides? Yet if you test the Londoners’ knowledge of horses,