“That we looked to hold what we had not and to have what we did not hold:
That a shield should give us shelter — that a sword should give us power —
A shield snatched up at a venture and a hilt scarce handled an hour:
“That being rich in the open, we should be strong in the close —
“And the Gods would sell us a cunning for the day that we met our foes.
“This was the work of wizards, but not with our foe they bide,
“In our own camp we took them, and their names are Sloth and Pride.
“Our pride was before the battle, our sloth ere we lifted spear:
“But hid in the heart of the people, as the fever hides in the mere:
“Waiting only the war-game, the heat of the strife to rise
“As the ague fumes round Oxeney when the rotting reed-bed dries.
“But now we are purged of that fever — cleansed by the letting of blood,
“Something leaner of body — something keener of mood.
“And the men new — freed from the levies return to the fields again,
“Matching a hundred battles, cottar and lord and thane;
“And they talk loud in the temples where the ancient war-gods are;
“They thumb and mock and belittle the holy harness of war.
“They jest at the sacred chariots, the robes and the gilded staff.
“These things fill them with laughter, they lean on their spears and laugh.
“The men grown old in the war-game, hither and thither they range —
“And scorn and laughter together are sire and dam of change;
“And change may be good or evil — but we know not what it will bring;
“Therefore our King must teach us. That is thy task, O King!”
