came,
And as they had shouldered their bucklers so did they shoulder their blame.
For that was the wont of the Saxons (the ancient poets sing),
And first they spoke in the Witan and then they spoke to the King:
’Edward King of the Saxons, thou knowest from sire to son,
’One is the King and his People—in gain and ungain one.
’Count we the gain together. With doubtings and spread dismays
’We have broken a foolish people—but after many days.
’Count we the loss together. Warlocks hampered our arms,
’We were tricked as by magic, we were turned as by charms.
’We went down to the battle and the road was plain to keep,
’But our angry eyes were holden, and we struck as they strike in sleep—
’Men new shaken from slumber, sweating, with eyes a-stare
’Little blows uncertain dealt on the useless air.
’Also a vision betrayed us, and a lying tale made bold
’That we looked to hold what we had not and to have what we did not hold:
’That a shield should give us shelter—that a sword should give us power—
’A shield snatched up at a venture and a hilt scarce handled an hour:
’That being rich in the open, we should be strong in the close—
’And the Gods would sell us a cunning for the day that we met our foes.
’This was the work of wizards, but not with our foe they bide,
’In our own camp we took them, and their names are Sloth and Pride.
’Our pride was before the battle: our sloth ere we lifted spear,
’But hid in the heart of the people as the fever hides in the mere,
’Waiting only the war-game, the heat of the strife to rise
’As the ague fumes round Oxeney when the rotting reed-bed dries.
’But now we are purged of that fever—cleansed by the letting of blood,
’Something leaner of body—something keener of mood.
’And the men new-freed from the levies return to the fields again,
’Matching a hundred battles, cottar and lord and thane.
’And they talk aloud in the temples where the ancient wargods are.
’They thumb and mock and belittle the holy harness of war.
’They jest at the sacred chariots, the robes and the gilded staff.
’These things fill them with laughter, they lean on their spears and laugh.
’The men grown old in the war-game, hither and thither they range—
’And scorn and laughter together are sire and dam of change;
’And change may be good or evil—but we know not what it will bring,
‘Therefore our King must teach us. That is thy task, O King!’
And as they had shouldered their bucklers so did they shoulder their blame.
For that was the wont of the Saxons (the ancient poets sing),
And first they spoke in the Witan and then they spoke to the King:
’Edward King of the Saxons, thou knowest from sire to son,
’One is the King and his People—in gain and ungain one.
’Count we the gain together. With doubtings and spread dismays
’We have broken a foolish people—but after many days.
’Count we the loss together. Warlocks hampered our arms,
’We were tricked as by magic, we were turned as by charms.
’We went down to the battle and the road was plain to keep,
’But our angry eyes were holden, and we struck as they strike in sleep—
’Men new shaken from slumber, sweating, with eyes a-stare
’Little blows uncertain dealt on the useless air.
’Also a vision betrayed us, and a lying tale made bold
’That we looked to hold what we had not and to have what we did not hold:
’That a shield should give us shelter—that a sword should give us power—
’A shield snatched up at a venture and a hilt scarce handled an hour:
’That being rich in the open, we should be strong in the close—
’And the Gods would sell us a cunning for the day that we met our foes.
’This was the work of wizards, but not with our foe they bide,
’In our own camp we took them, and their names are Sloth and Pride.
’Our pride was before the battle: our sloth ere we lifted spear,
’But hid in the heart of the people as the fever hides in the mere,
’Waiting only the war-game, the heat of the strife to rise
’As the ague fumes round Oxeney when the rotting reed-bed dries.
’But now we are purged of that fever—cleansed by the letting of blood,
’Something leaner of body—something keener of mood.
’And the men new-freed from the levies return to the fields again,
’Matching a hundred battles, cottar and lord and thane.
’And they talk aloud in the temples where the ancient wargods are.
’They thumb and mock and belittle the holy harness of war.
’They jest at the sacred chariots, the robes and the gilded staff.
’These things fill them with laughter, they lean on their spears and laugh.
’The men grown old in the war-game, hither and thither they range—
’And scorn and laughter together are sire and dam of change;
’And change may be good or evil—but we know not what it will bring,
‘Therefore our King must teach us. That is thy task, O King!’
POSEIDON’S LAW
When the robust and Brass-bound Man commissioned first
for sea
His fragile raft, Poseidon laughed, and ‘Mariner,’
said he,
’Behold, a Law immutable I lay on thee and thine,
That never shall ye act or tell a falsehood at my
shrine.
’Let Zeus adjudge your landward kin, whose votive
meal and salt
At easy-cheated altars win oblivion for the fault,
But you the unhoodwinked wave shall test—the
immediate gulf condemn—
Except ye owe the Fates a jest, be slow to jest with
them.