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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447594" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Combat. By Etty</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THEY fled,--for there was for the brave<br>Left only a dishonour'd grave.<br>The day was lost; and his red hand<br>Was now upon a broken brand,<br>The foes were in his native town,<br>The gates were forced, the walls were down,<br>The burning city lit the sky,--<br>What had he then to do but fly;<br>Fly to the mountain-rock, where yet<br>Revenge might strike, or peace forget!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They fled,--for she was by his side,<br>Life's last and loveliest link, his bride,--<br>Friends, fame, hope, freedom, all were gone,<br>Or linger'd only with that one.<br>They hasten'd by the lonely way<br>That through the winding forest lay,<br>Hearth, home, tower, temple, blazed behind,<br>And shout and shriek came on the wind;<br>And twice the warrior turn'd again<br>And cursed the arm that now in vain,<br>Wounded and faint, essay'd to grasp<br>The sword that trembled in its clasp.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last they reach'd a secret shade<br>Which seem'd as for their safety made;<br>And there they paused, for the warm tide<br>Burst in red gushes from his side,<br>And hung the drops on brow and cheek,<br>And his gasp'd breath came thick and weak.<br>She took her long dark hair, and bound<br>The cool moss on each gaping wound, <br>And in her closed-up hands she brought<br>The water which his hot lip sought,--<br>And anxious gazed upon his eye,<br>As asking, shall we live or die?<br>Almost as if she thought his breath<br>Had power o'er his own life and death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, hark!--'tis not the wind deceives,<br>There is a step among the leaves:<br>Her blood runs cold, her heart beats high,<br>It is their fiercest enemy;<br>He of the charm'd and deadly steel,<br>Whose stroke was never known to heal,--<br>He of the sword sworn not to spare,--<br>She flung her down in her despair!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dying chief sprang to his knee,<br>And the staunch'd wounds well'd fearfully;<br>But his gash'd arm, what is it now?<br>Livid his lip, and black his brow,<br>While over him the slayer stood,<br>As if he almost scorn'd the blood<br>That cost so little to be won,--<br>He strikes,--the work of death is done!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Letitia+Elizabeth+Landon">Letitia Elizabeth Landon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447594" data-title="The Combat. By Etty de Letitia Elizabeth Landon" data-description="THEY fled,--for there was for the brave
Left only a dishonour'd grave.
The day was lost; and his red hand
Was now upon a broken brand,
The foes were in his native town,
The gates were forced, the walls were down,
The burning city lit the sky,--
Wh..."></div>
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