Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 1 (October 1912-March 1913).djvu/95



Somewhere I read a strange, old, rusty tale Smelling of war; most curiously named "The Mad Recreant Knight of the West." Once, you have read, the round world brimmed with hate, Stirred and revolted, flashed unceasingly Facets of cruel splendor. And the strong Harried the weak Long past, long past, praise God In these fair, peaceful, happy days.

The Tale: Eastward the Huns break border,
 * Surf on a rotten dyke;

They have murdered the Eastern Warder
 * (His head on a pike).

"Arm thee, arm thee, my father!
 * "Swift rides the Goddes-bane,

"And the high nobles gather
 * "On the plain!"

"O blind world-wrath!" cried Sangar,
 * "Greatly I killed in youth,

"I dreamed men had done with anger
 * "Through Goddes truth!"

Smiled the boy then in faint scorn,
 * Hard with the battle-thrill;

"Arm thee, loud calls the war-horn
 * "And shrill!"