large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb_47
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb
English
5754
Whirling the one sword round his head, A great wheel in the sun, He sent it splendid through the sky, Flying before the shaft could fly   It smote Earl Harold over the eye, And blood began to run. WHIRLING THE ONE SWORD ROUND HIS HEAD A GREAT WHEEL IN THE SUN HE SPENT IT SPLENDID THROUGH THE SKY FLYING BEFORE THE SHAFT COULD FLY IT SMOTE EARL HAROLD OVER THE EYE AND THE BLOOD BEGAN TO RUN
axon leaves, Though Ireland be but a land of saints, And Wales a land of thieves, "I say you yet shall weary Of the working of your word, That stricken spirits never strike Nor lean hands hold a sword. "And if ever ye ride in Ireland, The jest may yet be said, There is the land of broken hearts, And the land of broken heads." Not less barbarian laughter Choked Harold like a flood, "And shall I fight with scarecrows That am of Guthrum's blood? "Meeting may be of war-men, Where the best war-man wins; But all this carrion a man shoots Before the fight begins." And stopping in his onward strides, He snatched a bow in scorn From some mean slave, and bent it on Colan, whose doom grew dark; and shone Stars evil over Caerleon, In the place where he was born. For Colan had not bow nor sling, On a lonely sword leaned he, Like Arthur on Excalibur In the battle by the sea. To his great gold ear-ring Harold Tugged back the feathered tail, And swift had sprung the arrow, But swifter sprang the Gael.  WE HOLD BUT BITTERLY WHAT LAND THE SAXON LEAVES THOUGH IRELAND BE A LAND OF SAINTS AND WALES A LAND OF THIEVES I SAY YOU YET SHALL WEARY OF THE WORKING OF YOUR WORD THAT STRICKEN SPIRITS NEVER STRIKE NOR LEAN HANDS HOLD A SWORD AND IF EVER YE RIDE IN IRELAND THE JEST MAY YET BE SAID THERE IS THE LAND OF BROKEN HEARTS AND THE LAND OF BROKEN HEADS NOT LESS BARBARIAN LAUGHTER CHOKED HAROLD LIKE A FLOOD AND SHALL I FIGHT WITH SCARECROWS THAT AM OF GUTHRUM'S BLOOD MEETING MAY BE OF WAR MEN WHERE THE BEST WAR MAN WINS BUT ALL THIS CARRION A MAN SHOOTS BEFORE THE FIGHT BEGINS AND STOPPING IN HIS ONWARD STRIDES HE SNATCHED A BOW IN SCORN FROM SOME MEAN SLAVE AND BENT IT ON COLIN WHOSE DOOM GREW DARK AND SHONE STARS EVIL OVER CARLION IN THE PLACE WHERE HE WAS BORN FOR COLIN HAD NOT BOW NOR SLING ON A LONELY SWORD LEANED HE LIKE ARTHUR ON EXCALIBUR IN THE BATTLE BY THE SEA TO HIS GREAT GOLD EARRING HAROLD TUGGED ABACK THE FEATHERED TAIL AND SWIFT HAD SPRUNG THE ARROW BUT SWIFTER SPRANG THE GALE
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb
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