The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 06, No. 33, July, 1860 by Various
page 39 of 289 (13%)
page 39 of 289 (13%)
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That seemed like gold a-chinking.
'Twere wrong to infer from what you're read That Richard awoke with an aching head; For nerves like his resisted With wonderful ease what we might deem Enough to stagger a Polypheme, And his spirits would never more than seem A trifle too much "assisted." And yet in the morn no fumes were there, And his eyes were bright,--almost as a pair Of eyes that you and I know; For his head, the best authorities write, (See the Story of Tuck,) was always right And sound as ever after a night Of _"Pellite curas vino!"_ As soon as the light broke into his tent, Without delay for a herald he sent, And bade him don his tabard, And away to the Count to say, "By law _That gold_ was the king's: unless he saw The same ere noon, his sword he would draw And throw away the scabbard." An hour, for his morning exercise, He swayed that sword of wondrous size,-- 'Twas called his great "persuader"; Then a mace of steel he smote in two,-- |
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