Rage no more; But useless Lances into Scythes shall bend, And the broad Falchion in a Plow-share end.

"Full through his neck the weighty falchion sped, Along the pavement roll'd the mutt'ring head." Odyssey, xxii, 365.

With grasp of their hard hands they welcomed me Took from the walls their rusty falchions down And from their eyes the soul of valor flash'd With joyful lustre, as I spoke those names, Sacred to every peasant in the mountains, Your own and Walter Fürst's.

Mázinderán thy conquering prowess knew; The Demon-king thy trenchant falchion slew, The rolling heavens, abash'd with fear, behold Thy biting sword, thy mace adorned with gold!