Classic Poem

Heading his heroes
Hardy king Harold,
Marching by moonlight
Moved through the forest.
Banners their hands bare
Taken in battle;
Wildly their war-flags
Waved in the wind;
Wildly their war-songs
Rang through the woodland.
What bodeth yon bustle
That's heard in the brushwood?
What swings there, close-swarming,
And sways in the tree-tops?
What drops from the dark cloud,
And darts from the fountain?
What flings to them flowers,
While fluently singing?
What whirls round each warrior,
And leaps on each war-horse?
What clasps them so closely,
And clings to their armour?
Draweth their daggers,
And drags them from horseback,
Conquers their calmness,
And keeps them unquiet?

'Tis the army of elfins!
No aid can avail them;
The fairies have found them,
And force them to Fay-land!

But hardy king Harold,
Brave hero, was left there;
From steel-cap to stirrup
In steel was he cased.
Shields sees he and swords,
Tho' the swordsmen have vanished;
Bereft of their riders,
Steeds rush thro' the forest.
Heavy at heart
The hardy king Harold
Mused as he moved
Through the forest by moonlight.

Down from a dark cleft
A fountain is dashing;
Lightly down-leaping
He loosens his helmet;
Lightly down-leaping
He lappeth the cool wave.
He feels that his forces
Wax faint, as he drinketh;
He slumbers and sleeps
As he sinks on the boulders.
He rests on his rock-bed,
Naught recking, for ages;
His head, with its hoar locks,
Still heaves with his breathing.

When flameth and flasheth
The flare of the lightning;
When rustle the rain-drops
And rolleth the thunder,
Lo! Harold the hero
Still handles his sword-hilt,
Seeking to seize it
Tho' sunk in his slumber.