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Updated: May 28, 2025
The Duke bowed his head, and kissed a relic suspended from his throat. Farther sign of approval of his counsellor's words he gave not, but after a pause, he said: "When I depart, Rolf, thou wendest back to thy marches. These Welch are brave and fierce, and shape work enow for thy hands." "Ay, by my halidame! poor sleep by the side of the beehive you have stricken down."
Guile with guile oppose, and never Crown and brow shall Force dissever: Till the dead men unforgiving Loose the war steeds on the living; Till a sun whose race is ending Sees the rival stars contending; Where the dead men, unforgiving, Wheel the war steeds round the living. Where thou wendest, wend unfearing; Every step thy throne is nearing.
After this day I will prepare my departure. Daughter of Etruria, whither wendest thou? 'I shall cross over to Herculaneum this day, and, wandering thence along the coast, shall seek out a new home. I am friendless: my two companions, the fox and the snake, are dead. Great Hermes, thou hast promised me twenty additional years of life! 'Aye, said the Egyptian, 'I have promised thee.
The Duke bowed his head, and kissed a relic suspended from his throat. Farther sign of approval of his counsellor's words he gave not, but after a pause, he said: "When I depart, Rolf, thou wendest back to thy marches. These Welch are brave and fierce, and shape work enow for thy hands." "Ay, by my halidame! poor sleep by the side of the beehive you have stricken down."
Guile with guile oppose, and never Crown and brow shall Force dissever: Till the dead men unforgiving Loose the war steeds on the living; Till a sun whose race is ending Sees the rival stars contending; Where the dead men, unforgiving, Wheel the war steeds round the living. Where thou wendest, wend unfearing; Every step thy throne is nearing.
Cerdic's race, the Thor-descended, In the Monk-king's tomb be ended; And no Saxon brow but thine Wear the crown of Woden's line. Where thou wendest, wend unfearing, Every step thy throne is nearing. Fraud may plot, and force assail thee, Shall the soul thou trusteth fail thee? If it fail thee, scornful hearer, Still the throne shines near and nearer.
Woeful wretch, thou wendest to hell, if thou dost forth as thou hast begun, where thou shalt find fire so hot and so raging, that all the water in the sea, though it ran through it, should not slake a spark thereof.
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