For the record stands, as well ye know,
How a hundred years and a year ago
We dealt the dragons a smashing blow
By issuing from our magic tree
A carefully-framed complete decree,
Which ordered dragons to cease to be.
Still, since our Dickon is passing sure
That he saw a regular Simon pure.
Some dragon's egg, as it seems, contrived
To elude our curses, and so survived
On an inaccessible rocky shelf,
Where at last it managed to hatch itself.
Whatever the cause, the result is plain:
We're in for a dragon-fuss again.
We haven't the time, and, what is worse,
We haven't the means to frame a curse.
So what is there left for us to say
Save this, that our men at break of day
Must gather and go to kill
The monstrous savage
Whose fire-blasts ravage
The flocks and herds on the gorse-clad summit,
the summit of Winter Hill?"
II
So the men, when they heard the Chief Bard utter the order that bade them
try
For the awful dragon,
The dauntless dragon,
They all of them shouted "Aye!"
For everyone felt assured that he,
Whatever the fate of the rest might be,
However few of them might survive,
Was certainly safe to stay alive,
And was probably bound to deal the blow
That would shatter the beast and lay him low,
And end the days of their dragon-foe.
And all the women-folk egged them on:
It was "Up with your heart, and at him, John!"
Or "Gurth, you'll bring me his ugly head,"
Or "Lance, my man, when you've struck him dead,
When he hasn't a wag in his fearful tail,
Carve off and bring me a blue-green scale.
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