Identifier: childsbookofwarr00cant (find matches)
Title: A child's book of warriors
Year: 1907 (1900s)
Authors: Canton, William, 1845-1926
Subjects: Legends
Publisher: London : J.M Dent & sons, ld New York, E.P. Dutton & co. London, J.M. Dent
Contributing Library: New York Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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the dark valley was heard the voiceof the herald calling: Ho, you of the rock, giveear! See you not my winged warriors? saith thelord of the rainbow. Cast aside quiver and bow,sword and spear, and yield to the mightiest. Yourlives he spares you, man and maid, mother and child;but from this sunrise he counts you among his bond-folk. So the Rock of Narsinga was taken. When droves of horses had trampled down thesnow in the pass, the legions of that famous invasionstreamed over the mountains into the East; and inthe midst, between vanguard and rearguard, passedthe flower of kings, Iskander of the Two Horns. But a troop of veterans was left behind upon therock to hold the tribes in subjection. Twice andyet again the people rose in arms, but the veteranscame down into the valley and broke and slew them.In times of peace nothing was seen of these men ofiron. No one knew how they fared; whether theywere relieved; when they were provisioned. Therock was hated and shunned. Between sunset and 4
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^Era&g■F^,-T COue. - 11^ f^ W/70 hatDulkarnetn redcfenecl tvttfi anger ^ The Rock of Narsinga dawn the most daring spirit in the hills would havefled from it in terror. One sure sign there was of the sleepless watch ofthe garrison. Summer and winter, at noon or atmidnight, the sound of their trumpets suddenly rangout from the fort on the rock. At one time it mightbe a low, plaintive cadence which floated across thevalley; at another it was a fierce confusion of alarmsand charges and recalls from pursuit. So the years passed away. The old people diedand were laid in the stone chambers of sleep hewnin the cliffs. The boys and girls grew up, and a newrace of children played in the Valley of the Sun.And long afterwards, upon a summer evening, thevillagers sat under their sacred fig-tree near thelittle red shrine by the lake-side. The fragrance of the pine-woods was keen in thesunny air; and soft as the bloom of a plum the purplelight lay upon the peaks. Among the villagers wasa vene

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