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KING ARGIMENES (kneeling, hands outspread downwards.) O warrior
spirit, wherever thou wanderest, whoever be thy gods; whether they
punish thee or whether they bless thee; O kingly spirit that once laid
here this sword, behold I pray to thee having no gods to pray to, for
the god of my nation was broken in three by night. Mine arm is stiff
with three years' slavery and remembers not the sword. But guide thy
sword till I have slain six men and armed the strongest slaves, and
thou shalt have the sacrifice every year of a hundred goodly oxen. And
I will build in Ithara a temple to thy memory wherein all that enter
in shall remember thee, so shalt thou be honoured and envied among the
dead, for the dead are very jealous of remembrance. Aye, though thou
wert a robber that took men's lives unrighteously, yet shall rare
spices smoulder in thy temple and little maidens sing and new-plucked
flowers deck the solemn aisles; and priests shall go about it ringing
bells that thy soul shall find repose. O but it has a good blade this
old green sword; thou wouldst not like to see it miss its mark (if the
dead see at all, as wise men teach,) thou wouldst not like to see it
go thirsting into the air; so huge a sword should find its marrowy
bone. (Extending his right hand upward.) Come into my right arm, O
ancient spirit, O unknown warrior's soul. And if thou hast the ear of
any gods, speak there against Illuriel, god of King Darniak. (He rises
and goes on digging. Re-enter the King's Overseer.)
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