The Warrior of the North

Langedauer 1

I know not how much time is past

Since I did tread that polis last;

Yet still I hear the glorious cheers

Of those who lived not in fear.

Those days I rode my Arab steed:

A stallion of an ancient breed;

With him I travelled far and wide,

Driven forth by unknown tide.

And thus I rode without relent,

Eating what Nature could present;

My heart was longing to arrive:

To find a world in which to thrive.

One day my stallion spoke to me:

"I have a question to ask thee;

Wherefore and whither do we go?

Are we to brave another foe?"

I see you look at me with wonder;

I guarantee this is no blunder:

My horse and I would oft converse,

Like me he too did utter verse.

The question caught me by surprise,

Though I did know it could arise;

Yet I could not let my steed be blind:

I told him what dwelled my mind.

"Dearest Dorian" – 'twas his name –

"It seems I found myself an aim;

Last night, while we indulged in rest,

A flame was lit within my breast.

Never did I see dream so clear:

Before me stood a beauteous deer

Of robust frame and antlers tall;

He bade me close with tuneful call.

I moved forth towards the vision:

I found no need for more provisions;

And greater than the wolf's howl

His words could pierce my very soul."

"All wanderings you shall now abort,

You are the Warrior of the North;

Before this task you must not cower:

Your Fate resides in Langedauer."