 | Poems |  |
“Speak,” he cried, “what doth proclaim
Yon banner of accursed fame?”
Odun, Lord of Devonshire,
Answered then his royal sire;
“Fierce Hubba, with rapacious band,
Had ravaged Cambria's bleeding land,
Returning, laden with their spoil,
Again they crossed our hapless soil.
Whersoe'er those heathens came,
There was massacre and flame.
Around beleagured Kenwith's tower,
The scornful chief had ranged his power.
I bade my followers not despair.
We raised our hands to God in prayer;
And sallied from our castle-wall,
Scarce three hundred men in all.
My Sire, it suits not me to boast;
The hand of God o'erthrew their host.
Of our foul oppressors slain,
Twice six hundred heaped the plain.
Yon banner of accursed fame?”
Odun, Lord of Devonshire,
Answered then his royal sire;
“Fierce Hubba, with rapacious band,
Had ravaged Cambria's bleeding land,
12
Again they crossed our hapless soil.
Whersoe'er those heathens came,
There was massacre and flame.
Around beleagured Kenwith's tower,
The scornful chief had ranged his power.
I bade my followers not despair.
We raised our hands to God in prayer;
And sallied from our castle-wall,
Scarce three hundred men in all.
My Sire, it suits not me to boast;
The hand of God o'erthrew their host.
Of our foul oppressors slain,
Twice six hundred heaped the plain.
| Poems | |