A rhythmic poem, tres dramatique!
Out from the west the black horsemen are riding
Out of the sun with their harsh voices chiding
Silver hooves crashing and capes all a-flying
Weaving the warp and the weft of the dying
Out of the storm cloud a host of dark rangers
Helms flash in light with a sword-glint of danger
Horse’s legs flailing and hooves tipped with silver
Crossing with ease the fast-foaming white river
One with an eye like a pool of bright water
Ready for fighting and come for the slaughter
Fixes on me and then speeds on forever
Never again will I see this, no never!
Cold in the rain as I shiver and tremor
Thundering hooves shake the earth with their clamour
The host passes on with their banners a-waving
We few stand forlorn, we are not fit for saving
Wave crashes down in the fit of the water
Wave crashes down on both me and my daughter,
Spitting and struggling, I cling to the raft-logs
Crying and calling, I cling to the raft-logs
Now she is gone and the water is lashing
Foaming and sucking, the water is crashing
Pity my life as I cling on so lonely
My daughter is gone and I had her, her only.
Blinking. The water is sluicing and sinking,
Ebbing away from the village. I’m thinking
Already of how my life runs from this day:
Nothing to die for; no more to say.