and the heavy shocks.
The invaders passed the lower galleries through,
And mounted up the winding iron stair
That led to Wallenrod's last dwelling-place.
Alf with the iron bolt secured the door,
His sabre drew, a cup raised from the board,
Drew near the window. "It is done!" he cried.
He filled, and drank. "Old man, 'tis in thy hands."

Halban grew pale. With motion of his hand
He thought to spill the draught--he stopt in thought.
The sounds aye nearer through the doors were heard,
His hand relaxed. "'Tis they, the foes are come!"
"Old man, thou knowest what this uproar means?
What are thy thoughts? Thou hast the goblet full--
I have drunk my portion. In thy hands, old man."

Halban gazed on in silence of despair.
"No, no, I will survive even thee, my son!
I would as yet remain to close thine eyes,
And live, so that the glory of thy deed,
I to the world may tell, to ages show.
I'll traverse Litwa's castles, hamlets, towns;
And where I pass not, there my song shall fly.
The bard shall sing them unto knights in war,
And women sing them for their babes at home.
Aye! they shall sing them, and in future days
Some venger shall arise from out our bones."(5)

Alf fell upon the window-sill with tears,
And long, long time upon the tower he gazed,
As though he yet his gaze would satiate
With those dear sights he shortly must forego.
He hung on Halban's neck; they mixed their sighs,
In that embrace of long and last farewell.
But at the bolts they heard a steely rattle,
And armed men came in, and called Alf s name.

"Traitor, thy head must fall beneath the sword;
Repent thee of thy sins, prepare for death!
Behold this old man, chaplain of the Order,
Cleanse thou thy soul and make a fitting end!"
Alf stood with drawn sword ready for their coming;
But paler aye he grew, he bowed, and tottered,
Leaned on the sill; casting a haughty glance,
His mantle tore off, flung the Master's badge
On earth, and trampled scornful under foot.

"Behold the sins committed in my life.
Ready am I to die; what will ye more?
The annals of my ruling will ye hear?
Look on these many thousands hurled to death,
On towns in ruins, and domains in flames.
Hear ye the storm-winds? clouds of snow drive on;
Thither your army's remnants freeze in ice.
Hear ye? The hungry packs of dogs do howl,
They tear each other for the banquet's remnant.

"I caused all this, and I am great and proud,
So many hydras' heads one blow has felled;
As Samson, by o