ow, who bore short spears and swords. Near by
these were wild, huge men of yellow hair, whose shields were
leather and whose swords were broad and long. And as I gazed at
all of these, my blood thrilling strangely at the sight, the
figures blended and formed into a splendid procession of a
martial day gone by. I saw them--a long stream of mounted
men, who rode in helmet and cuirass, and bore each aloft a
long-beamed spear. In front rode one whose mien was high and
stern, and who might well have been commander. High aloft he
tossed his great sword as he rode, and sang the time a song of
war; and as he sang, the thousands of deep throats behind him
made chorus terrible but stirring in its chesty melody, for
ictus to the song each warrior smiting sword on shield in a
mighty unison whose high, sonorous note thrilled like the voice
of actual war. Steady the strong eyes gleamed out and onward as
they rode. From the steel-clad breast of each there shone
forward a glancing ray of light, as though it came direct from
the heart, untamed even by a thousand years of death. My heart
leaped to see them ride, so straight and stern and fearless, so
goodly, so glorious to look upon. Came the rattle of chain, the
clang of arms, the jangle of belt and spur; and still the brave
procession passed, in tens, in hundreds, in thousands, in a long
wave of stately men, whose eyes shone each in all the bold
delight of war. Stooped front, hooked hand and avaricious
eye--these were as absent as the glow of gold or silver. It was
the glorious age of steel.

[Illustration]

Still on they passed, always arising the hoarse swell of the
fighters' chorus. I heard the rumble of the many hoofs,
thrilling even the impassive earth. The spear points shone. The
harness rattled. The pennants fluttered stiffly in the breeze.
And then afar I heard a sweet, compelling melody, the invitation
of the bugle, that dearest mistress of the heart of man. My
blood leaped. I started up. I started forward. The sweep of the
ranks drew me on and in irresistibly. I would have raised my
voice. I sought to stay, if for but one instant, this army of
brave men, this panorama of exalted war, this incomparable
pageant of a day gone by! It was the Singing Mouse that checked
me; for I heard it sigh:

"Alas!"

And yet again the scene was changed. Across the view streamed
yet a long line of warriors. The hair of these did not float
yellow from beneath loosened casque, nor indeed