IV.

Now, mass being said, before the priest he brought That glittering prophecy, his untried sword. In some mysterious forge the blade was wrought, By shadowy arms of force that baffle thought Wrought curiously in the dim under-world; And all along the sheath processions poured, Thronged shapes of earth’s weird morn Ere yet the hammer of Thor was downward hurled: Not less it had for hilt the Cross of Christ the Lord, And must thereby in battle aye be borne.