Ursus

Canto the Sixth
Song of Endings & Beginnings

They bellowed out their battle-cries
They screamed and roared and swore
But then! A sight which chilled barflies:
The boy burst through the door!!

His clothes were rent and flayed and torn
His hair was thick with blood
And yet his face, quite strangely, wore
A look none ever should

The barflies swarmed around him; they
thought he’d a tale to tell:-
Their leader’s face went ashen grey
as at the Gates of Hell.

“I’ve done it! Yes!! Old George was mine
Though he’s a gruff old bastard
He’s rather sweet ~ can take his time
Went longer than I lasted!!

But where is she whom I must fight
Where is the comely wench?!
For fresh from wild love’s dreadful height
My bloodlust’s now entrenched!!”

At these weird words the barfly slumped
upon his sturdy stool.
“You mean to say that you’ve just humped
Old George ~ you bloody fool!?!”

“Yes! That’s the wager ~ that’s the bet!!
A girl I must now beat:~
This stupid trial that YOU set
which I will now complete!!!”

The landlord’s face creased in a smirk
at such a beastly error
The barflies, to a man, just lurked
in shadows of dark terror.

Till now the landlord’s daughter has
been little more than cypher
A doleful damsel ~ Our hero was
to come and promptly save her.

She now steps into settling dust
and though she doesn’t speak:-
She does allay the boy’s bloodlust
with sweet kiss on his cheek.

The barfly leader rose once more
and by the maid’s hair, grabbed her
“Get out of here! And take your whore
For you can damn well have her!!

The barflies looked on him anew
and saw a bottom-feeder
They rushed upon the boy and threw
their arms round their New Leader.

The barfly baulked at this affront:
“I’ll brook no contradiction!
You cannot Hail this little runt
and serve ME with eviction!!!

I am your king ~ you shower of stoats
You cannot mark MY card!”
The landlord grabbed him by the throat
and said, “Right mate ~ you’re barred!”

They threw him out into the night
where he chilled to the bone.
And promptly set the Wanderer high
upon his wooden throne.

But Heroes are not kings by rule
Their realm’s the open road
The Wanderer stepped down from the stool
and said: “I have to go.

Your landlord is your rightful Earl
He’ll rule you with good sway.”
He gently kissed the swooning girl
and quietly slipped away.

And so, my tale is all but done
of Wanderer with no name:-
One night a tin-pot kingdom won
which he refused to claim.

There is one final aspect, though
I’ll finish, since I’ve started
Unlike the Wanderer, I shan’t go
till all has been imparted.

The barfly living in the wild
upon the mountainside;
The climate in the North’s not mild
and this, he can’t abide.

Within a cave he made a fire
Then cursed and wailed and wept
He stoked and nursed his growing ire
and then thereafter ~ slept.

And as he slept, he dreamed of days
so old and long-forgotten
Of times before his evil ways
had turned his heart so rotten.
 

For once the barfly was a boy
The landlord’s lowly boarder
Who’d loved, with such unbridled joy,
the landlord’s eldest daughter.

But boyish love is oft ill-borne
And so, by maids despised
Whilst she, in turn, had poured such scorn
On joyous, hopeful eyes.

Awaking such a tyrant-king
So newly discommoded
Who still remains a dangerous thing
Spurned heart, now freshly goaded.

But in the morn, he rudely woke
“Hello my ersine friend!”
Old George; with less than gentle stroke:
Gave him a fitting End.