Voices from long ago whose words were wise and valued are silenced now by these new masters whose words are neither wise nor valued.
Wizards abroad and demons too and men hanging from trees in the forest and beasts uneasy in their den - oh what folly is this? And those who whisper, those whisperers, what are they saying what are they asking, in whose bosom will they leave their blades?
Where are the knights of old, the sacred lances, the named swords, the swords whose names were known to us. Where are the kings? Where are those kings whose names were rich in meaning, the noble jewels, the noble stones. Where are they fighting now?
Here in this land where no king reigns nor ever shall, who shall save us all, rise up against this strange wind blowing and bring us home - are they with us, are they marching beside us - in the ranks of our legions march the mighty ghosts of England's past?
There are strange winds blowing, a change in the weather - what folly is this?
posted by Weasel @ 6:11 PM
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