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Updated: June 18, 2025
But I wept sore till I made him weep, and looking at him, repeated the following verses: I counted on you as a coat of dart-proof mail toward The foeman's arrows from my breast. Alas! ye are his sword! I hoped in you to succour me in every evil chance, Although my right hand to my left no more should help afford.
Their psychology is bovine, their outlook crude and rare; They abandon vital matters to be tickled with a straw; But the straw that they were tickled with the chaff that they were fed with They convert into a weaver's beam to break their foeman's head with. For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State, They arrive at their conclusions largely inarticulate.
The silence in which this House has received the speech of the Prime Minister is the most eloquent tribute that could be paid to the solemnity of his utterances. But, sir, I have a reason for calling attention to one omission in that speech, an omission which may have been made purposely. The last time that a foeman's foot trod British soil was not eight hundred years ago.
No Tuscan Arnold von Winkelried clasped a dozen lances to his bosom that the foeman's ranks might thus be broken at the cost of his own life; nor did it occur to the Italian burghers to meet the charge of the horsemen with squares protected by bristling spears.
Are all the common ones so grand, And all the titled ones so mean? What if your failure may have been In trying to make good bread from bran, From worthless metal a weapon keen? Abraham Lincoln, find us a MAN! O, we will follow him to the death, Where the foeman's fiercest columns are! O, we will use our latest breath, Cheering for every sacred star!
For just as the foeman's machine came up to the tail of Immelman's craft the latter would suddenly turn his nose straight to earth, drop like a stone, execute a backward loop, and come up behind his surprised adversary who thus found the tables suddenly turned. These two German aviators long held the record for execution done in single combat.
"Blest souls, that, from this mortal husk set free, In guerdon of brave deeds beatified, Above this lowly orb of ours abide Made heirs of heaven and immortality, With noble rage and ardour glowing ye Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied, And with your own blood and the foeman's dyed The sandy soil and the encircling sea.
We could see but little of the enemy; they lay concealed behind the loose rocks, and our men had little else to do but lift their rifles and pull the trigger, trusting to the powers that rule the destinies of war to speed the bullets to some foeman's resting place.
Then Ottar raised the standard and pointed it forward, and there rose a thundering cheer from our whole line as we charged and swept the Danes before us, spear and axe and sword cleaving their way unchecked. And surely sword Foe's Bane wiped out the dishonour of biding in a foeman's power that day. Then rode our horsemen among the disordered crowd, and that was the end.
Sir Nigel stood well-nigh alone on the bridge; his bright armor, his foaming charger bore evident marks of the fray, but still he rode his steed firmly and unbent, his plume yet waved untouched by the foeman's sword.
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