large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb_3
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb
English
5754
"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." 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
e, grey as cobwebs hung, The banners of the Usk. But as he came before his line A little 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 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. IS PEOPLE GIVING TONGUE FORWARDS WHERE GRAY AS COBWEBS HUNG THE BANNERS OF THE ASK BUT AS HE CAME BEFORE HIS LINE A LITTLE 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
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_05_chesterton_64kb.flac