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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Action/Adventure · #1955487
The entirety of a Ballad. A few stanzas of which appeared in a story of mine.
The Battle of Ravens Rest.

Tis of Bold Ransom I shall sing
A warrior renowned.
The son and heir of Hargoth, King,
Of all the lands around.

Of the Battle of Raven's Rest,
When terror walked the land,
And sword and Death devoured the best
Of those that dared to stand.

To thwart the foe that came to rob
This land of peace; and King.
'Til 'gainst the evil tyrant's mob.
Young Ransom sword did bring.

The Lord of Thandor did desire
To rule o'er all the lands.
So sent he out both sword and fire
To bolster his demands.

The lands of Hargoth rich and fair,
He wanted most of all.
An sent his strongest army there.
The kingdom to enthrall.

The northern mountains stand as guard,
To Hargoth's happy land
And Ravens Rest does form the ward,
'Gainst any raving band.

The towers tall, of granite made,
The men steadfast and true.
The gates of oak are solid laid,
And none has e'er gone through.

A mighty fortress guarding well
This land of peace and joy,
Raven's Rest as legends tell,
Will enemies destroy.

Like waves upon the ocean shore,
They break upon her flanks,
To be upon the earth no more,
Amongst the living ranks.

For year on year beyond recall,
The keep has e'er stood fast.
And all have died against this wall,
That tried, unwished, to pass.

The heights that Thangor's men must crest,
Came through the single gate,
Where stood the mighty Raven's Rest.
Where they would meet their fate.

The horns of war did loudly sing,
The coming of the sword,
To waste the lands of Hargoth, King,
And all within his ward.

Long years of peace had held their sway.
The garrisons reduced.
They were too weak to hold at bay,
The horde Thangor had loosed.

A messenger flew through the night,
No respite, food, nor sleep
To seek for men to aid the fight
At the mountain keep.

"We are too few. The foe is strong.
We cannot hold the gate.
If none can aid us, ere too long,
Then Death will be our fate".

Bold Ransom, youth, did hear the call,
And to the battle hied,
And with him men of ages all,
To stand fast at his side.

Through days and weeks the foe had curst
And broke against the wall,
'Til the gates at last were burst,
The keep about to fall.

Twas on a fateful autumn day,
Ere snow was in the sky,
That Ransom boldly stood at bay,
His anger to decry.

His battle cry the walls did shake,
Stones from the mountains fell.
The sound of Ransom's awesome rage,
Did rouse the fiends of hell.

I'll hold the gate, though do I fall,
Who with me then will go?
To stand and fight and be a wall,
Against the raging foe.

An hundred men did leave the keep,
And into danger trod,
An hundred wives did wail and weep
And pray for aid from God.

Afore the gate in ranked array,
Stood Ransom tall and brave,
With many at his side that day,
That sleep now in their grave.

And lo! The gates were mended,
Whilst Ransom held the door.
The King's men had defended,
The Keep was strong once more.

The foe in thousands numbered,
Ransom's men were few,
Before the battle ended,
All that stood were two.

Lord Hengest and Bold Ransom,
The last to hold the gate,
Stood tall and proud and fearsome,
Amid the battle spate.

An Ransom stood amidst his foe,
His sword a bloody red.
A mowing scythe that laid them low,
Upon death's grassy bed.

From morn to dusk his blade did reap,
A harvest; young and old.
High around his feet did heap,
The foolish and the bold.

For home and hearth, and love of king,
He bore his burden well.
An on his death the bard would sing,
Of how Bold Ransom fell.

And in the days and years to be,
The story would ring true.
A man. A battle. A land held free,
By Ransom, and his few.

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