Rise, champion of Ultonia's need, From sickness freed to strength awake! All miss thee from King Conor's levy; For him thy heavy slumber break! Behold! his steel-clad shoulders glare, His trumpets blare for battle press; Behold his chariots sweep the glen, He marshals men as though for chess. His Red Branch Knights, with spear on loop, His maiden troop, tall and serene, His vassal kings--a battle storm-- By each the form of his fair queen! Look forth! the winter hath begun; Now one by one its marvels mark, Behold, for it beseems thee well, Its long, cold spell, its hueless dark. This rest inglorious is not good-- Weak lassitude from wanton strife-- Such long repose is drunkenness, Such sleep no less than death in life. This trance, as of a toping churl, With mighty ardour hurl away! Forth, from thy bed of impotence, Leap, Champion Prince, to front the fray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASPIRATIONS OF A COUNTRY LAD by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A STRANGE MEETING by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TOMMY'S DEAD by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 44 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE APPROACH OF LOVE by LOUIS ARAGON |