Behold the sturdy, steely blade;
so brightly it dazzles in the rays!
The hexed hewer yet looks so hallowed
by the grace of a dark wizard's glow!
How deftly brandishes and wields and slays
and rushes in a mock-macabre spree!
And stomps or gallops away, with the valour free.
Oozing pain from the battle-kisses
drips and drops and soils the beaches;
like a sponge they soak the stains!
Behold again the grizzled holder
now so frantic and then so distraught;
How he vaunts in vain
like the receding rain!
In a glittering glory, slays or slain
the histrionic anecdote will surely feign!
That what counts the toll
and writes the scroll
does rail the blade
and fails the blade.
Captured and captive now
the butcher's head hangs low
before the holy scribe
falls in a tearing strife;
the verdict comes and brings the gallows:
now the noose awaits the bloody hands
and the decomposed motto
will then lick the sordid sands.
The orphan blade idly
lies on the dusty �oor;
decreed fate by the mightier foe.
Stripped off rank goes cold in the senile sheath;
no victor's thrill and no �annel's frill;
no garden sends a �ower wreath.
