The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

"It is Sassard and no other then," her noble guardian cried;
"There is craft in yonder summons," and he rung his sword beside.
"To the walls, ye sons of Germain! and as each would hold his life
From the bitter shame of falsehood, let us hold our master's wife."

"Can you hold her, can you shield her from the breezes that await?"
Cried the stinging voice of Sassard from his stand beside the gate.
"If you have the power to shield her from the sunlight and the wind,
You may shield her from stern Sassard when his falchion is untwined."

"We can hold her, we can shield her," leaped like fire from off the wall,
And young Enguerrand the valiant, sprang out before them all.
"And if breezes bring dishonor, we will guard her from their breath,
Though we yield her to the keeping of the sacred arms of Death."

And with force that never faltered, did they guard her all that day,
Though the strength of triple armies seemed to battle in the fray,
The old castle's rugged ramparts holding firm against the foe,
As a goodly dyke resisteth the whelming billow's flow.

But next morning as the sunlight rose in splendor over all,
Hugh the mighty, sank heart-wounded in his station on the wall,
At the noon the valiant Raoul of the merry eye and heart,
Gave his beauty and his jestings to the foeman's jealous dart.

Gallant Maurice next sank faltering with a death wound 'neath his hair,
But still fighting on till Sassard pressed across him up the stair.
Generous Clement followed after, crying as his spirit passed,
"Sons of Germain to the rescue, and be loyal to the last!"

Gentle Jaspar, lordly Clarence, Sessamine the doughty brand,
Even Henri who had yielded ne'er before to mortal hand;
One by one they fall and perish, while the vaunting foemen pour
Through the breach and up the courtway to the very turret's door.

Enguerrand and Stephen only now were left of all that nine,
To protect the single stairway from the traitor's fell design;
But with might as 'twere of thirty, did they wield the axe and brand,
Striving in their desperation the fierce onslaught to withstand.

But what man of power so godlike he can stay the billow's wrack,
Or with single-handed weapon hold an hundred foemen back!
As the sun turned sadly westward, with a wild despairing cry,
Stephen bowed his noble forehead and sank down on earth to die.

"Ah ha!" then cried cruel Sassard with his foot upon the stair,
"Have I come to thee, my boaster?" and he whirled his sword in air.
"Thou who pratest of thy power to protect her to the death,
What think'st thou now of Sassard and the wind's aspiring breath?"

"What I think let this same show you," answered fiery Enguerrand,
And he poised his lofty battle-ax with sure and steady hand;
"Now as Heaven loveth justice, may this deathly weapon fall
On the murderer of my brothers and th' undoer of us all."

With one mighty whirl he sent it; flashing from his hand it came,
Like the lightning from the heavens in a whirl of awful flame,
And betwixt the brows of Sassard and his two false eyeballs passed,
And the murderer sank before it, like a tree before the blast.

"Now ye minions of a traitor if you look for vengeance, come!"
And his voice was like a trumpet when it clangs a victor home.
But a cry from far below him rose like thunder upward, "Nay!
Let them turn and meet the husband if they hunger for the fray."

O the yell that sprang to heaven as that voice swept up the stair,
And the slaughter dire that followed in another moment there!
From the least unto the greatest, from the henchman to the lord,
Not a man on all that stairway lived to sheath again his sword.

At the top that flame-bound forehead, at the base that blade of fire —
'Twas the meeting of two tempests in their potency and ire.
Ere the moon could falter inward with its pity and its woe,
Beaufort saw the path before him unencumbered of the foe.

Saw his pathway unencumbered and strode up and o'er the floor,
Even to the very threshold of his lovely lady's door,
And already in his fancy did he see the golden beam
Of her locks upon his shoulder and her sweet eyes' happy gleam:

When behold a form upstarting from the shadows at his side.
That with naked sword uplifted barred the passage to his bride;
It was Enguerrand the dauntless, but with staring eyes and hair
Blowing wild about a forehead pale as snow in moonlit glare.

"Ah my master, we have held her, we have guarded her," he said,
"Not a shadow of dishonor has so much as touched her head.
Twenty wretches lie below there with the brothers of Germain,
Twenty foemen of her honor that I, Enguerrand, have slain.

"But one other foe remaineth, one remaineth yet," he cried,
"Which it fits this hand to punish ere you cross unto your bride.
It is I, Enguerrand!" shrieked he; "and as I have slain the rest,
So I smite this foeman also!" – and his sword plunged through his breast.

O the horror of that moment! "Art thou mad my Enguerrand?"
Cried his master, striving wildly to withdraw the fatal brand.
But the stern youth smiling sadly, started back from his embrace,
While a flash like summer lightning, flickered direful on his face.