Triumph
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Bedeck the streets with garlands bright!
Strew every path with hay
and line the roads with rushes sweet
or cherry blossoms gay!
The Host is headed home again
in glory and renown;
bestowing fame and great acclaim
on our humble town.
Light tapers, torches; hoist them high!
This square shall be a star
enkindled; ever blazing bright
for travellers afar!
Let beacon flare and tallow flame
do everything they may
to guide our sons and fathers home
from many leagues away!
The road is long, the march is hard,
my feet are stiff and sore.
“All this will pass,” our Captain says,
“Be glad! We’re home once more!
A hero’s welcome in the streets
with everlasting fame
awaits all those who shoulder arms
by our master’s name!”
Yet still my mood and mind are dark
though we’ve achieved our goal;
can such a thing be worth the price
of an immortal soul?
We used to drift in dreamless sleep—
Now at the close of day,
brave soldiers dare not shut their eyes...
Those horrors of the fray!
Atrocities I’ve carried out
in lord and Master’s name
have left their mark upon my heart
and damned me with their shame.
I see the village lights afar,
bright banners in the breeze...
It's strange—I know I should be glad,
but I am ill at ease.
So on I drag unwilling feet
towards the town we see
as though it were the guillotine
or else the gallows tree.
Our march is quiet. No one speaks,
reluctant; half-afraid
for what we’ll find at journey’s end—
Are kin alive or dead?
Sound all the trumpets! To the gates!
Look yonder—can you see
that rising dust cloud to the west?
My father rides to me
with trophies from barbarian lands,
containers filled with gold,
and gilded swords of heathen Kings
which I may hope to hold
when age gives me a season’s growth
or stubble on my chin.
Come all of you—and give the call
to let those wagons in!
Thus here we find ourselves at last
before the village gate
where warriors falter in their tracks—
like naughty pups we wait!
We’ve weathered fiendish sorcery
without the slightest fear,
confronted hulking demon-lords
and forded swampy mere!
Our eyes have seen elf-arrows soar;
enough to blot the sky...
Defeated scores of bandit chiefs
while holding heads up high!
But none of us will take a step,
all glancing round to see;
half-shuffling feet and clearing throats,
just who the first will be.
The years have drifted; come and gone
since we first rode to War...
So sheepishly, we stand our ground—
Strange beggars at the door...
Their march has stopped! They do not move—
Can something be amiss?
But no; for here they come again
through early morning mist!
The Captain striding in the lead,
steel helmet burnished gold;
with knights and paladins behind—
All tall and strong and bold!
Don’t jostle me—I want to see!
Are all the soldiers there?
Please, sister—will you let me know
if Dad is anywhere?
These silly walls are way too high—
I find I must tiptoe
to catch a glimpse beyond the swarm
of people down below.
“Third column—seventh from the right!”
a whisper in my ear.
But it’s no use; too far away
for me to see them here.
Then all at once-- "You need some help?”
arms wrap around my waist;
they lift me high above the crowd—
And there's my father’s face!
His armour shines in light of day;
We see that four-fold shield
slung on his back; the heavy sword
that he alone can wield!
“Look up, up here!” we call in vain
in such a jumbled mess,
each shouted greeting; every voice
soon swallowed by the rest.
The scent of flowers, sickly-sweet
pervades the heady air.
From some child’s hand; a blossom wafts
and settles in my hair:
Soft velvet; fragile, veiny smooth
yet light as thistledown—
It falls to pieces in my fist.
I cast it to the ground.
Their shouting thunders in my head
to make my eardrums ring:
Loud voices; church-bells all combined
into one noisy din.
More flowers from the womenfolk
who try to catch my eye...
For these we nod; return our thanks
as they retreat and sigh.
My Captain leads our caravan
through winding streets and lanes.
Our pace is sluggish, it is slow—
we bridle at the reins
intent to see our wives, our sons—
these errands call for haste,
but for the sake of protocol
must smile at every face,
relating tales of valiant deeds
in distant lands and town
although I wish I never saw
sight of that cursed ground!
We see you at our hearth again;
all strong and stern and proud...
That steady rumble of your voice—
assuring; firm and loud,
stir feelings locked within my heart!
Some evil’s turned you fey—
A shadow sits upon your brow
Black fur has turned to grey…
You laugh less often than you did,
and sometimes watch the sky
to speak with people who aren’t there
or bow your head and sigh.
Are these my daughter and my son?
How quickly children grow!
Where is the shy and pretty lass
that I once used to know?
The girl with flowers in her hair;
whose knees were never clean,
has gained her mother’s looks and grace—
None fairer have I seen!
My little rascal of a son;
no more than three or four
is seven now—so bright and keen!
How can I ask for more?
I'd like to shout my gratitude;
embrace them both to me
and never, ever let them go!
Let this forever be!
Instead, I falter in my words;
hold out unsteady arms...
Perhaps they have forgotten me?
But then my spirit calms
when Clytemnestra runs to me,
collapsing in my hug;
her muzzle buried in my chest,
enveloped safe and snug.
I brush those glossy, auburn locks
as I did long ago;
exclaiming, “Dear heart; how you’ve grown!”
She smiles. “Yes, Dad—I know.”
Now comes the rustle of her kiss—
which soothes my fevered mind
returning to the ball of fluff
who’s waiting close behind.
Amazing how he looks like me!
It makes my heart leap high.
He takes a step but hesitates—
No wonder he is shy
to greet a father long away;
one that he’s barely met!
Again I curse the clumsy tracks
on which my life is set
along with that uncaring Fate
which sent me out to Sea;
away from home and everything
most meaningful to me.
“So how art thou, Rapscallion?
Still doing well, I see!
A nuisance to your poor old ma!
Do you remember me?”
You kneel to look me in the eyes;
to chuck me ‘neath the chin.
And it’s as though you’ve never left—
As though it’s never been
three lonely summers since the night
we watched you sail away
on orders from the King himself.
There’s much I want to say!
I'll want to tell you of the cave
that me and Kios found—
The one we made our secret base;
half hidden underground!
I'd like to tell of how I fought
with Kanrik when he dared
declare his dad could beat my own
or say I’m gutter-bred!
O if you could have seen our fight—
How fur and feather flew!
Nobody—serf or noble-born
speaks ill to me of you!
That liar Kanrik tucked his tail;
he cried defeat to me
before the elders intervened
at last to set him free.
Although my hide was sorely tanned,
yet I have no regrets
in teaching him a lesson then
which he will not forget!
I want to hear of everything
you’ve seen and done in war—
strange countries, armies, battle plans
of siege and weapon lore!
Instead, the first thing that I say
comes in an eager plea:
“Did you bring treasure from the trip?
Is some of it for me?”
We smile a little at his wish.
Such zealous energy!
Though it’s misplaced—for better things
there are than just to be
a simple soldier knight-at-arms
in service to the King.
Street merchant, artist, architect—
Musicians paid to sing
are better off within their trade;
or so it seems to me.
But boys can only once be boys;
can only once be free…
He shifts his weight from foot to foot,
pretending not to care.
“Will you come greet your father first?”
I ruffle at his hair,
heart pounding as he makes his way;
pads lightly up to me.
An awkward wait, and then we act
with perfect harmony.
“We've missed you, Dad.” “I’ve missed you too.”
Arms lock around my neck.
It’s not as hard as I had feared
to hug my son right back
and feel the rhythm of his heart
which beats with such a flame—
housed in its fragile cage of bone
within his slender frame:
So delicate; so light and small,
I'm frightened he may break
in little pieces, flung aside
by my destructive wake!
I hardly dare believe my eyes,
for in my father’s hand
awaits a dagger made of steel!
“In far and distant lands,
an ancient; crafty people dwell,”
he whispers now to me.
“This blade once served an elven Prince—
so wield it sensibly!
Yet heed—for this is not a toy!
Have caution; for it may
perform achievements fair and foul!
Swords cut two ways; they say...
The elf prince gifted it to me:
‘My present to your boy,’
said he, ‘For in these troubling times
one needs a warrior’s toy!’
We thanked him for his charity
but could not change his mind;
thus now I pass his gift to thee—
None better will you find.”
Its heaviness is a surprise...
That scabbard's silver pall—
What scores of fights it must have seen
upon some city’s wall!
A prince’s weapon--just for me!--
to set me from the crowd...
With it I know I’ll do great things
and make my father proud!
O for the treasure that is youth!
This sparkle in his eye
I feel a duty to preserve—
and hence; this one small lie:
The dirk comes not from Elvenheim
beyond the rolling sea;
but from the stall across the street—
A copper will buy three.
I've never met with elven Kings
or foreign royalty,
for I am just a knight-at-arms;
contented thus to be!
Yet I know what he wants to hear—
What child won’t have the same?
While he is youthful; let him dream
of valour, glory, fame...
Then hopefully, it’ll be a while
before he comes to know
eventual loss—the final hell
where youth and laughter go.
