VII
They tonsured me but Easter year,
I swore to Christ and Rome.
My name is not mine older name....
But ah! to see them as they came,
With thundering and with points aflame,
I smelt foam.
And my heart was like a wandering man’s,
Who piles his boat on Moorna sands
And serves a slave in alien lands,
And then beneath a harper’s hands
Hears suddenly of home.
. . . . . .
For their cavalry came in a curling leaf,
They shouted as they drave,
And the Bastard’s line was like a reef
But theirs was like a wave.