Take your harps and let me sing.
Beat your strings, the silver and the gold;
For I would sing the dauntless Man Who slew the dragon of the valley, Then gazèd down with pity Upon the thing He had slain.
Take your harps and sing with me
The lofty Oak upon the height, The sky-hearted and the ocean-handed Man, Who kissed the pallid lips of death, Yet quivers now upon the mouth of life.
Take your harps and let us sing
The fearless Hunter on the hill, Who marked the beast, and shot His viewless arrow, And brought the horn and tusk Down to the earth.
Take your harps and sing with me
- The valiant Youth who conquered the mountain cities,
- And the cities of the plain that coiled like serpents in the sand.
He fought not against pygmies but against gods Who hungered for our flesh and thirsted for our blood.
And like the first Golden Hawk He would rival only eagles; For His wings were vast and proud And would not outwing the less wingèd.
Take your harps and sing with me