The Ballad of the Fox
Lurks the Fox within the wood,
His teeth and claws are red with blood.
Within his leafy, dark retreat
He chews the cud of vengeance sweet.
Oh, trenchant his avenging sword!
It falls not on the rock or sward,
But on the mail of Orkish foe:
Swift as the lightning falls the blow.
I’ve seen the Lethans wield the flail,
Scattering the Northern chaff like hail:
But iron is the flail they wield
Against the churlish Orkney’s shield.
I heard the call of victory
From Menez-Mikael to Michael’s Mount to Élorn fly,
And Alain’s glory flies as fast
From Gweltas’ church to every coast.
Ah, may his splendour never die,
May it live on eternally!
But woe that I may nevermore
Declaim this lay on Armor’s shore,
For the base Orkish hand has torn
My tongue from out my mouth forlorn.
But if my lips no longer frame
The glories of our Alain’s name,
My heart shall ever sing his praise,
Who won the fight and wears the bays!
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