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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117664" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Book V: Ethandune, the First Stroke</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">King Guthrum was a dread king,<br>Like death out of the north;<br>Shrines without name or number<br>He rent and rolled as lumber,<br>From Chester to the Humber<br>He drove his foemen forth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Roman villas heard him<br>In the valley of the Thames,<br>Come over the hills roaring<br>Above their roofs, and pouring<br>On spire and stair and flooring<br>Brimstone and pitch and flames.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sheer o'er the great chalk uplands<br>And the hill of the Horse went he,<br>Till high on Hampshire beacons<br>He saw the southern sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">High on the heights of Wessex<br>He saw the southern brine,<br>And turned him to a conquered land,<br>And where the northern thornwoods stand,<br>And the road parts on either hand,<br>There came to him a sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">King Guthrum was a war-chief,<br>A wise man in the field,<br>And though he prospered well, and knew<br>How Alfred's folk were sad and few,<br>Not less with weighty care he drew<br>Long lines for pike and shield.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">King Guthrum lay on the upper land,<br>On a single road at gaze,<br>And his foe must come with lean array,<br>Up the left arm of the cloven way,<br>To the meeting of the ways.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And long ere the noise of armour,<br>An hour ere the break of light,<br>The woods awoke with crash and cry,<br>And the birds sprang clamouring harsh and high,<br>And the rabbits ran like an elves' army<br>Ere Alfred came in sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The live wood came at Guthrum,<br>On foot and claw and wing,<br>The nests were noisy overhead,<br>For Alfred and the star of red,<br>All life went forth, and the forest fled<br>Before the face of the King.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But halted in the woodways<br>Christ's few were grim and grey,<br>And each with a small, far, bird-like sight<br>Saw the high folly of the fight;<br>And though strange joys had grown in the night,<br>Despair grew with the day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when white dawn crawled through the wood,<br>Like cold foam of a flood,<br>Then weakened every warrior's mood,<br>In hope, though not in hardihood;<br>And each man sorrowed as he stood<br>In the fashion of his blood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the Saxon Franklin sorrowed<br>For the things that had been fair;<br>For the dear dead woman, crimson-clad,<br>And the great feasts and the friends he had;<br>But the Celtic prince's soul was sad<br>For the things that never were.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the eyes Italian all things<br>But a black laughter died;<br>And Alfred flung his shield to earth<br>And smote his breast and cried--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I wronged a man to his slaying,<br>And a woman to her shame,<br>And once I looked on a sworn maid<br>That was wed to the Holy Name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And once I took my neighbour's wife,<br>That was bound to an eastland man,<br>In the starkness of my evil youth,<br>Before my griefs began.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"People, if you have any prayers,<br>Say prayers for me:<br>And lay me under a Christian stone<br>In that lost land I thought my own,<br>To wait till the holy horn is blown,<br>And all poor men are free."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Eldred of the idle farm<br>Leaned on his ancient sword,<br>As fell his heavy words and few;<br>And his eyes were of such alien blue<br>As gleams where the Northman saileth new<br>Into an unknown fiord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I was a fool and wasted ale--<br>My slaves found it sweet;<br>I was a fool and wasted bread,<br>And the birds had bread to eat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The kings go up and the kings go down,<br>And who knows who shall rule;<br>Next night a king may starve or sleep,<br>But men and birds and beasts shall weep<br>At the burial of a fool.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O, drunkards in my cellar,<br>Boys in my apple tree,<br>The world grows stern and strange and new,<br>And wise men shall govern you,<br>And you shall weep for me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But yoke me my own oxen,<br>Down to my own farm;<br>My own dog will whine for me,<br>My own friends will bend the knee,<br>And the foes I slew openly<br>Have never wished me harm."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all were moved a little,<br>But Colan stood apart,<br>Having first pity, and after<br>Hearing, like rat in rafter,<br>That little worm of laughter<br>That eats the Irish heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And his grey-green eyes were cruel,<br>And the smile of his mouth waxed hard,<br>And he said, "And when did Britain<br>Become your burying-yard?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Before the Romans lit the land,<br>When schools and monks were none,<br>We reared such stones to the sun-god<br>As might put out the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The tall trees of Britain<br>We worshipped and were wise,<br>But you shall raid the whole land through<br>And never a tree shall talk to you,<br>Though every leaf is a tongue taught true<br>And the forest is full of eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"On one round hill to the seaward<br>The trees grow tall and grey<br>And the trees talk together<br>When all men are away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O'er a few round hills forgotten<br>The trees grow tall in rings,<br>And the trees talk together<br>Of many pagan things.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Yet I could lie and listen<br>With a cross upon my clay,<br>And hear unhurt for ever<br>What the trees of Britain say."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A proud man was the Roman,<br>His speech a single one,<br>But his eyes were like an eagle's eyes<br>That is staring at the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Dig for me where I die," he said,<br>"If first or last I fall--<br>Dead on the fell at the first charge,<br>Or dead by Wantage wall;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lift not my head from bloody ground,<br>Bear not my body home,<br>For all the earth is Roman earth<br>And I shall die in Rome."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Alfred, King of England,<br>Bade blow the horns of war,<br>And fling the Golden Dragon out,<br>With crackle and acclaim and shout,<br>Scrolled and aflame and far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And under the Golden Dragon<br>Went Wessex all along,<br>Past the sharp point of the cloven ways,<br>Out from the black wood into the blaze<br>Of sun and steel and song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when they came to the open land<br>They wheeled, deployed and stood;<br>Midmost were Marcus and the King,<br>And Eldred on the right-hand wing,<br>And leftwards Colan darkling,<br>In the last shade of the wood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the Earls of the Great Army<br>Lay like a long half moon,<br>Ten poles before their palisades,<br>With wide-winged helms and runic blades<br>Red giants of an age of raids,<br>In the thornland of Ethandune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Midmost the saddles rose and swayed,<br>And a stir of horses' manes,<br>Where Guthrum and a few rode high<br>On horses seized in victory;<br>But Ogier went on foot to die,<br>In the old way of the Danes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far to the King's left Elf the bard<br>Led on the eastern wing<br>With songs and spells that change the blood;<br>And on the King's right Harold stood,<br>The kinsman of the King.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Young Harold, coarse, with colours gay,<br>Smoking with oil and musk,<br>And the pleasant violence of the young,<br>Pushed through his people, giving tongue<br>Foewards, where, grey as cobwebs hung,<br>The banners of the Usk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But as he came before his line<br>A little space along,<br>His beardless face broke into mirth,<br>And he cried: "What broken bits of earth<br>Are here? For what their clothes are worth<br>I would sell them for a song."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Colan was hung with raiment<br>Tattered like autumn leaves,<br>And his men were all as thin as saints,<br>And all as poor as thieves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No bows nor slings nor bolts they bore,<br>But bills and pikes ill-made;<br>And none but Colan bore a sword,<br>And rusty was its blade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Colan's eyes with mystery<br>And iron laughter stirred,<br>And he spoke aloud, but lightly<br>Not labouring to be heard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Oh, truly we be broken hearts,<br>For that cause, it is said,<br>We light our candles to that Lord<br>That broke Himself for bread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But though we hold but bitterly<br>What land the Saxon leaves,<br>Though Ireland be but a land of saints,<br>And Wales a land of thieves,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I say you yet shall weary<br>Of the working of your word,<br>That stricken spirits never strike<br>Nor lean hands hold a sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And if ever ye ride in Ireland,<br>The jest may yet be said,<br>There is the land of broken hearts,<br>And the land of broken heads."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not less barbarian laughter<br>Choked Harold like a flood,<br>"And shall I fight with scarecrows<br>That am of Guthrum's blood?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Meeting may be of war-men,<br>Where the best war-man wins;<br>But all this carrion a man shoots<br>Before the fight begins."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And stopping in his onward strides,<br>He snatched a bow in scorn<br>From some mean slave, and bent it on<br>Colan, whose doom grew dark; and shone<br>Stars evil over Caerleon,<br>In the place where he was born.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Colan had not bow nor sling,<br>On a lonely sword leaned he,<br>Like Arthur on Excalibur<br>In the battle by the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To his great gold ear-ring Harold<br>Tugged back the feathered tail,<br>And swift had sprung the arrow,<br>But swifter sprang the Gael.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whirling the one sword round his head,<br>A great wheel in the sun,<br>He sent it splendid through the sky,<br>Flying before the shaft could fly--<br>It smote Earl Harold over the eye,<br>And blood began to run.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Colan stood bare and weaponless,<br>Earl Harold, as in pain,<br>Strove for a smile, put hand to head,<br>Stumbled and suddenly fell dead;<br>And the small white daisies all waxed red<br>With blood out of his brain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all at that marvel of the sword,<br>Cast like a stone to slay,<br>Cried out. Said Alfred: "Who would see<br>Signs, must give all things. Verily<br>Man shall not taste of victory<br>Till he throws his sword away."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Alfred, prince of England,<br>And all the Christian earls,<br>Unhooked their swords and held them up,<br>Each offered to Colan, like a cup<br>Of chrysolite and pearls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the King said, "Do thou take my sword<br>Who have done this deed of fire,<br>For this is the manner of Christian men,<br>Whether of steel or priestly pen,<br>That they cast their hearts out of their ken<br>To get their heart's desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And whether ye swear a hive of monks,<br>Or one fair wife to friend,<br>This is the manner of Christian men,<br>That their oath endures the end.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For love, our Lord, at the end of the world,<br>Sits a red horse like a throne,<br>With a brazen helm and an iron bow,<br>But one arrow alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Love with the shield of the Broken Heart<br>Ever his bow doth bend,<br>With a single shaft for a single prize,<br>And the ultimate bolt that parts and flies<br>Comes with a thunder of split skies,<br>And a sound of souls that rend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"So shall you earn a king's sword,<br>Who cast your sword away."<br>And the King took, with a random eye,<br>A rude axe from a hind hard by<br>And turned him to the fray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the swords of the Earls of Daneland<br>Flamed round the fallen lord.<br>The first blood woke the trumpet-tune,<br>As in monk's rhyme or wizard's rune,<br>Beginneth the battle of Ethandune<br>With the throwing of the sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=G.K.+Chesterton">G.K. Chesterton</a> from <i>The Ballad of the White Horse</i><div class=q>
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