There's something about those Dark Ages....when life was hard, and farmers were forced to bang out their own swords on crude home-made anvils as the government crumbled, the Roman's pulled out, the sound of the Vikings landing on the beach, and your children looked up at you with wide eyes.
A time of helplessness, abandoned by "civilization", when simple men had to rise up, to try to defend their homes, and try to comfort the kids and make something to beat back the marauders who come to kill the children, try to defend the helpless in whatever makeshift way you could, and desperately cry out to the God who seemed to be blessing the Vikings...
That though you hunt the Christian man
Like a hare on the hill-side,
The hare has still more heart to run
Than you have heart to ride.
"That though all lances split on you,
All swords be heaved in vain,
We have more lust again to lose
Than you to win again.
"Your lord sits high in the saddle,
A broken-hearted king,
But our king Alfred, lost from fame,
Fallen among foes or bonds of shame,
In I know not what mean trade or name,
Has still some song to sing;
"Our monks go robed in rain and snow,
But the heart of flame therein,
But you go clothed in feasts and flames,
When all is ice within;
"Nor shall all iron dooms make dumb
Men wondering ceaselessly,
If it be not better to fast for joy
Than feast for misery."
