ee or thine, that me thou wouldest kill?"
Higher, prouder still he bears him; o'er his countenance appear,
Flitting quickly, looks of wonder and of scorn: what does he hear?

"And dost thou ask me, man of blood, what evil thou hast done?
Hast thou so soon forgot thy vow to hang each mother's son?
No! oft as thou hast broken vows, I know them to be strong,
Whene'er thy pride or lust or hate has sworn to do a wrong.
But churls should bow to right divine of kings, for good or ill,
And bare their necks to axe or rope, if 'twere thy royal will?
Ah, hadst thou, Richard, yet to learn the very meanest thing
That crawls the earth in self-defence would turn upon a king?
Yet deem not 'twas the hope of life which led me to the deed:
I'd freely lose a thousand lives to make thee, tyrant, bleed!--
Ay! mark me well, canst thou not see somewhat of old Bertrand?
My father good! my brothers dear!--all murdered by thy hand!
Yes, one escaped; he saw thee strike, he saw his kindred die,
And breathed a vow, a burning vow of vengeance;--it was I!
I've lived; but all my life has been a memory of the slain;
I've lived but to revenge them,--and I have not lived in vain!
I read it in thy haggard face, the hour is drawing nigh
When power and wealth can aid thee not,--when, Richard, thou must DIE!
What mean those pale, convulsive lips? What means that shrinking brow?
Ha! Richard of the lion-heart, thou art a coward now!
Now call thy hireling ruffians; bid them bring the cord and rack,
And bid them strain these limbs of mine until the sinews crack;
And bid them tear the quivering flesh, break one by one each bone;--
Thou canst not break my spirit, though thou mayst compel a groan.
I die, as I would live and die, the ever bold and free;
And I shall die with joy, to think I've rid the world of thee."

Swords are starting from their scabbards, grim and hardened warriors wait
Richard's slightest word or gesture that may seal the bowman's fate.
But his memory has been busy with the deeds of other times.
In the eyes of wakened conscience all his glories turn to crimes,
And his crimes to something monstrous; worlds were little now to give
In atonement for the least. He cries, in anguish, "Let him live.
He has reason; never treason more became a traitor bold.
Youth, forgive as I forgive thee! Give him freedom,--give him gold.
Marcadee, be sure, obey me; 'tis the last, the dying hest