reath aside; but after a
pause, he said:

"'Tis well; give it to me." But he laid it beside him in the litter.

"Autharis, Warnfrid, Grimoald, Aripert, Agilulf and Rotharis are dead,"
Basiliskos now reported. "Altogether the Longobardians have lost seven
thousand men; Alboin and Gisulf, severely wounded, lie motionless in
their tents."

"Good, very good! As soon as the Goths have embarked, let the
Longobardians be led away. They are dismissed my service. And say to
Alboin, as my parting words: 'After the death of Narses--_perhaps_; but
certainly not before.' I will remain here in my litter; support me with
the cushions--I cannot stand--but I must witness this wonderful
spectacle."

And in truth it was a grand and moving sight to behold the last of the
Goths, as they turned their backs upon Vesuvius and Italy, and embarked
in the high-prowed ships which were to bear them away to the safe and
sheltering north.

From the ravine, into which not a single enemy had succeeded in
penetrating, was heard at intervals the solemn tones of the Gothic
war-horns, accompanied by monotonous, grave, and touching strains from
the men, women, and children--the ancient death-song of the Gothic
nation.

Hildebrand and Adalgoth--the last chiefs, the hoary Past and the golden
Future--had arranged the order of march.

Foremost went, full-armed, five hundred men, led by Wisand, the
standard-bearer, who, in spite of his wounds, bravely opened the
procession, leaning on his spear. Then followed, stretched upon his
last shield, the spear of Cethegus still sticking in his breast,
without helmet, his noble and pallid face framed by his long black
locks--King Teja, covered with a purple mantle, and carried by four
warriors. Behind him came Adalgoth and Gotho, and Adalgoth, softly
striking his harp, sang in a low voice:

"Give place, ye peoples, to our march:
The doom of the Goths is sped!
No crown, no sceptre carry we,
We bear the noble dead.

"With shield to shield, and spear to spear,
We march to the Northland cool;
Until in grey and distant seas
We find the Island Thule.

"That is the Isle of the brave and true,
Where none dishonour fears;
There we will lay our bravest King
In his bed of oaken spears.

"From off our feet--give place! give place!--
We shak