THE SCOURING OF THE HORSE
In the years of the peace of Wessex, When the good king sat at home;Years following on that bloody boonWhen she that stands above the moonStood above death at Ethandune, And saw his kingdom come —
When the pagan people of the sea Fled to their palisades,Nailed there with javelins to cling,And wonder smote the pirate king,And brought him to his christening And the end of all his raids;
(For not till the night's blue slate is wiped Of its last star utterly,And new strange signs writ there to read,Shall eyes with such amazement heedAs when a great man knows indeed A greater thing than he.)
And there came to his chrism-loosing Lords of all lands afar;
117
