The San Francisco call., 1905-05-14

ten in that last year at Pisa. the COM
-pIetion of the poem. on which he had
lavished infinite labor. He remembered
an hour when her voice had said
"One day you will finish it-more
worthily." Had he done so? Had ne
redeemed those earlier portions which.
though his ancient enemy had de-
clared them touched with immor-
tality,' yet rang with cadences long
since grown painful to him? The
world might Judge.
He thought of his Memoirs. COM
p1eted, which he had sent from Italy
by Dallas for the hand of Tom Moore
in London. These pages were brief
for the defense. submitted to the Su-
preme Bench of Posterity.
For Ada" he muttered. The
smiles of her youth have been her
mothers, but the tears of her maturity
shall he minei"
His life for Greece And giving it. IL
should be his to strike at least one
fiery blow. TO lead one fierce clash of
arms He looked where a glittering
helmet hung on the wall. elaborately
wrought and emblazoned, bearing his
own crest and armorial motto: "Crede
Gordon"-a garish, ostentatious gew-
gaw whose every fragile line and over
decoration was a sneer. 1t had been
brought him in a satin casket by the
hand Of the suave PaoIo.- the last pol
1Shed sting Of his master, the Count
Guiccioli. He would bring to naught
that gilded mockery OF hatred that
scoffed at his purpose A few more
hours and preparations would be COM
pieted for the attack on Lepanto. To
storm that stronghold, rout the Turk
ish forces, sound this one clear bugle
call that would ring on far frontiers
and so the fall of the curtain.
AT length he SAT- drvvr at h1 "a
and in the candle-light began TO write
What he wrote in that hour has been
preserved among the few records
George Gordon left behind him at Mis-
solonghi.
My days in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits Of love are dons3
The worm, the canker and the grief
Are mine aloneI
The hope. the fear. the Jealous cara
The exalted portion OF the pain
And power OF love, 1 cannot SHARE.
wear the chain.
Yet see-the sword the nag. the n.ldl
Glory and Greece around me see.
The Spartan, borne upon his shield
Was not more free.
Awakel (not Greece-she Il avakeo
Awake my spiriti Think through whom
my Ife-blood tracks its parent lake
And then strike home!
Up to the battlel There Is found
soldiers grave-for thee the best:
Then look around and choose thy ground
And take thy rest!
The pen fell from his fingers. A sud-
den icN breath seemed to CONCEAL from
the air. He rose-tried to walk. but
felt his limbs failing him He fixed his
eyes upon a bright spot on the wall,
fighting desperately against the pail
ing faintness that was enshrouding
him. 1t gyrated and swan before his
vision-a FURNISHED helmet Should the
battle after all evade him? Was 1t de-
MED him even to fall upon the field? A
roaring rose in his ears.
He steadied himself against the table
and shut his teeth. The CULVER Of con-
vulsion was upon him agaIn-and the
movement against Lepanto began to-
morrow. 1t must not come-not vet.
not yet The very life of the cause was
wound in his. He would not yield.
The shepherd dog had risen whining
from the hearth; Gordon felt the rough
tongue licking his hand-felt but could
not see. He staggered toward the
couch Darkness had engulfed him, a
black giddiness from whose depths he
heard family a frantic barking and
hurried footsteps on the stair.