Poems
The sword once arisen
Not soon to its sheath
Shall return, for its prison
It scorns when the grief
Of those it transfixes and tortures have brought to its hunger relief.
Not soon to its sheath
Shall return, for its prison
It scorns when the grief
Of those it transfixes and tortures have brought to its hunger relief.
They fear us—they hate us
These lords, and they keep
Stern watch to abate us—
(The river is deep,
The current is strong in its fury, the cliffs that surround it are steep).
These lords, and they keep
Stern watch to abate us—
(The river is deep,
The current is strong in its fury, the cliffs that surround it are steep).
Though we serve them in battle
We laugh, for we hear
In our foeman's death rattle
We laugh, for we hear
In our foeman's death rattle
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