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I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round, And all his legions crying Christ and him, And break them; and I saw him, after, stand High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume Red as the rising sun with heathen blood, And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, "They are broken, they are broken!" for the King, However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts_ For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs Saying, his knights are better men than he_ Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives No greater leader.
Alfred Tennyson Idylls of the King
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I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round, And all his legions crying Christ and him, And break them; and I saw him, after, stand High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume Red as the rising sun with heathen blood, And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, "They are broken, they are broken!" for the King, However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts_ For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs Saying, his knights are better men than he_ Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives No greater leader.
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Alfred Tennyson

Idylls of the King

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