No! my eaglet yet shall reign an eagle in his parent nest.

"Lords and judges, I have done: no further words shall pass my lips,
Save prayers to Heaven, that my soul may, sun-like, rise from death's
eclipse."
Silently, he braved them still; and, sighing, sad, and full of gloom,
His judges sent him forth to struggle with the sharp and lingering doom.

Did he tremble at their sentence? Not a muscle quivered, not
A sign to mark he heard, save on his cheek one purple spot:
Statelier yet than ever, firmer, with a long triumphant breath,
Roland, smiling on his judges, sternly walked to certain death.

PART IV.

In his cell the knight is lying, naked, fettered foot and hand;
Bound unto the rocky ground with many an iron link and band;
On him lie the piles of granite, pressing, pressing; yet he still
Looks on death with lofty eye--so giant is his mighty will.

Day by day, he lay and suffered, wrung with agony, but content--
Day by day, though hard to bear was his grievous punishment--
Never once, though, hour on hour, they piled the jagged granite higher
On his quivering limbs, he murmured; yet his very veins were fire.

Once, however, came his jailer, saying that his nephew sought
His presence; and the knight, consenting, in his brother's son was brought:
"Uncle Roland," quoth he, weeping, "what is this that I have done?
Curses, curses on my head! curse, uncle, curse thy brother's son!

Mine the tongue that wrought this evil--mine the false and slanderous
tongue
That done to death the Lady Gwineth--O! my soul is sadly wrung!"
"Demon, devil!" groaned the warrior--"devil of the evil eye!
Look upon the awful horror wrought by thy atrocious lie.

Tell me? was it all a falsehood? Tell me, was it all--all--all?
Speak! and let these prison walls, oppressed with horror, on thee fall!"
"All was false! Mine, too the ambush; for I sought to grasp thy lands--
Sought to win the Lady Gwineth, with thy blood upon my hands.

But she drove me forth with scorn; and then I coined the lying tale--
O! forgive me, Uncle Roland! give me leave to weep and wail;
Give me leave to sit in sackcloth, heaping ashes on my head;
Mourning in some craggy cavern for the early lost and dead."

"Unexampled liar and traitor! first of all our noble name
Guilty of so black a treason! first to stain our shield with shame!
Hence! away! I--No! repent! begone! and pray for my repose:
Life on both of us too soon for our grievous crim