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Rh

How is it, Othus? something in thine eye Of joyous sadness looks upon me wistfully.

Dost thou not guess?—But I would speak to thee Of a brave soldier, who, in one short moment Of nature's weakness, has a wound receiv'd That will unto his life as fatal prove As fellest foeman's thrust: who in his rest Will not be mourn'd as brave men mourn the brave. Justiniani in his cave of shame

And therein let him perish! He hath disgrac'd a soldier's honest fame: He hath disgrac'd the country of his birth: He hathIt makes me stamp upon the ground To think that one, who grasp'd with brother's hand The noble Constantine, should basely turn. Name not his cursed name!

Art thou so stern? In a lone cave he groans, On the damp earth, in deepest agony Of the soul's shrewdest sufferings. I have By an old soldier been advis'd of this, And I would go to him, but that I feel