Hideous the Hun advances Like a sea-tide on sand; Unyielding, the haughty lances Make dauntless stand. And ever amid the clangor, Butchering Hun and Hun, With sorrowful face rides Sangar And his son....
Broken is the wild invader (Sullied, the whole world's fountains); They have penned the murderous raider With his back to the mountains. Yet tho' what had been mead Is now a bloody lake, Still drink swords where men bleed, Nor slake.
Now leaps one into the press— The Hell 'twixt front and front— Sangar, bloody and torn of dress (He has borne the brunt). "Hold!" cries "Peace! God's Peace! "Heed ye what Christus says—" And the wild battle gave surcease In amaze.
"When will ye cast out hate? "Brothers—my mad, mad brothers— "Mercy, ere it be too late, "These are sons of your mothers. "For sake of Him who died on Tree, "Who of all Creatures, loved the Least,"— "Blasphemer! God of Battles, He!" Cried a priest.
"Peace!" and with his two hands Has broken in twain his glaive. Weaponless, smiling he stands (Coward or brave?) "Traitor!" howls one rank, "Think ye "The Hun be our brother?" And "Fear we to die, craven, think ye?" The other.
Then sprang his son to his side, His lips with slaver were wet, For he had felt how men died And was lustful yet; (On his bent helm a glove Of the Duke's daughter, In his eyes splendor of love And slaughter)—
Shouting, "Father no more of mine! "Shameful old man—abhorr'd, "First traitor of all our line!" Up the two-handed sword. He smote—fell Sangar—and then Screaming, red, the boy ran Straight at the foe, and again Hell began ...
Oh, there was joy in Heaven when Sangar came. Sweet Mary wept, and bathed and bound his wounds, And God the Father healed him of despair, And Jesus gripped his hand, and laughed and laughed ...
John Reed