Page:Poet Lore, volume 34, 1923.djvu/317

  The solemn service made them strong; Each turned and greeted with a kiss His fellow: all stood spirit-filled, No longer like a knife they seemed, Which stained with blood deals deadly wounds; But like the sacred golden quill Which rising soars up to the sky, And writes for ages yet unborn The mighty deeds their fathers did.

The priest withdrew. The sun sank down Behind the loftiest mountain peaks. The troop marched on.

 

