Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
The Barons Last Banquet
By Albert Gorton Greene (18021868)O
Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay,
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne’er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more;
They come, and to my beard they dare tell me now, that I,
Their own liege lord and master born,—that I, ha! ha! must die.
Think ye he’s entered at my gate, has come to seek me here?
I’ve met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot,—
I’ll try his might—I’ll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.
Bid each retainer arm with speed,—call every vassal in,
Up with my banner on the wall,—the banquet board prepare;
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!”
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread,
While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted wall,
Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o’er the proud old Gothic hall.
On through the portal’s frowning arch, and thronged around the board.
While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.
There’s life and strength in every drop,—thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye all there, my vassals true?—mine eyes are waxing dim;
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.
And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board:
I hear it faintly:—Louder yet!—What clogs my heavy breath?
Up all, and shout for Rudiger, ‘Defiance unto Death!’”
That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high:—
“Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?—Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!
While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half way up;
And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head,
There in his dark, carved oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat, dead.