large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb_2
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb
English
5754
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." 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
e into mirth, And he cried: "What broken bits of earth Are here? For what their clothes are worth I would sell them for a song." For Colan was hung with raiment Tattered like autumn leaves, And his men were all as thin as saints, And all as poor as thieves. No bows nor slings nor bolts they bore, But bills and pikes ill-made; And none but Colan bore a sword, And rusty was its blade. And Colan's eyes with mystery And iron laughter stirred, And he spoke aloud, but lightly Not labouring to be heard. "Oh, truly we be broken hearts, For that cause, it is said, We light our candles to that Lord That broke Himself for bread. "But though we hold but bitterly What land the Saxon 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. LE SPACE ALONG HIS BEARDLESS FACE BROKE INTO MIRTH AND HE CRIED WHAT BROKEN BITS OF EARTH ARE HERE FOR WHAT THEIR CLOTHES ARE WORTH I WOULD SELL THEM FOR A SONG FOR COLIN WAS HUNG WITH RADIANT TATTERED LIKE AUTUMN LEAVES AND HIS MEN WERE ALL AS THIN AS SAINTS AND ALL AS POOR AS THIEVES NO BOWS NOR SLINGS NOR BOLTS THEY BORE BUT BILLS AND PIKES ILL MADE AND NONE BUT COLIN BORE A SWORD AND RUSTY WAS ITS BLADE AND COLIN'S EYES WITH MYSTERY AND IRON LAUGHTER STIRRED AND HE SPOKE ALOUD BUT LIGHTLY NOT LABOURING TO BE HEARD OH TRULY WE BE BROKEN HEARTS FOR WHAT CAUSE IT IS SAID WE LIGHT OUR CANDLES TO THAT LORD THAT BROKE HIMSELF FOR BREAD BUT THOUGH 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
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb
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