THE SWORD and ITS SCABBARD.

Kumara Times, Issue 469, 28 March 1878, Page 2

THE SWORD and ITS SCABBARD.

It hung aloft in the broken arch of a ruined aisle of time, And the crumbling stones and gaping rents were wet with ages’ rime ; ’Twas a slender sword, a biting blade, with a ring of the metal true, And a backward spring from the bending thrall that a baser blade might rue. ’Twas firmly set in its sparkling haft which a jewelled rainbow bound, And a mystic sign from the Maker’s band amongst its gems was found; ’Twas closely sheathed, nor rust nor speck had dulled its lustre bright; ’Twas a maiden sword; no sullying drop had clouded out its light. It was fairly dight, that sheletring sheath, ’twas a goodly sight to see, The red, red gold, and the crusting gems, and the symbol tracery; It was fairly dight, but many a dint and many a bruise was there, And many a rusting stain and dust, it had kept from the sword with care. It rustled and thrilled in its prison sheath, and chafed at the galling band; It longed for the clash and the nlang of strife and the struggle Hand to hand ; It swung and swayed in the moaning wind for many a weary day, Till there dawned a mom when the wearing blade had fretted the scabbard away. It was free at last! thro’ the murky air it flash’d a blaze around, And the shattered sheath sunk down beneath to hide it in the ground; It was free at last! it had cut its way through every hind’ring band, And it sprang with its mystic sign undimmed far back to its Maker’s hand. H. B.