Finis Coronat Opus

Far north, upon uncharted waves Where lands unpeopled lie, And freezing winds chill sunlight’s rays And blizzards fill the skies; There, o’er the treacherous fields of ice, March desperate in the snow A host, unceasing day or night, To eastward slowly go. Against a foe most foul they swore, Who stole a birthright fair, That though this evil shame they bore, Yet great would be their heirs. Upon the grinding ice they press And struggle on, though long And perilous the path lies; yes, And weak does grow the strong. The lays and lore tell of the line That braved the northern lands; Through cent’ries long, their heirs did rise, And legends from their hands.

A weary captain sits alone, His fellows mirthful feast, and home They wend their steps at break of day, For long has been their time away; But gazing into firelight warm, There, stony, is their leader, worn. Of noble house and old was he, E’er ill befell the peoples free And drove them thence, to live in thrall Of lowest men and shadows all, Until, at last, his way was made To seek his solace far away. A name he made, as years did pass, And honor brought his house; at last A Sword against the evil rose To vanquish many mortal foes, And men did flock to pledge their arms, Who to the Shadow brought much harm. But though great deeds this man had done, And proved himself his father’s son, Yet dark became his quiet heart; For long ago, the painful dart Of loss and weariness had pierced His soul, and made his vengeance fierce. So by himself his doom he bears, Through lore of kingdoms, tales of years, And great his name is ever known As darkness deep is overthrown; Though sad and troubled he ...

The darkest days of winter, long And cold, behind us lie, And slowly rises golden sun, The earth to lift from night. While chill and icy winds do blow, And leafless trees stand bare, Yet, ‘neath the sunlight’s yellow glow The dreariness looks fair. And soon, once snowy blast is gone, When ice no more can be, The Spring shall dance ’til day is done, Bedecked in joyous glee.

In western isle across the sea, Where men from shadow long were free, There dwelled a young adventurer fair Whose line was noble, but whose care Was ever for the rolling waves And sailing into break of day. Fair ships he built, as never seen Before his time; and evergreen He planted o’er the island vales, That generations hence might sail In frigates made from timber strong, To seek the lands names oft in song. Upon the isle, a maiden lived Within the vales, like treasure hid, Who loved the woods and all that grew, And how leaves sprung each year anew; She cared not for the ocean’s song And said ‘twould weary her ‘ere long. The maiden and the youth would wed, He’d place a crown upon her head And seek to grant her every wish, Yet one thing she’d not bear; ’twas this: That trees be felled for mast and stern, And ships go out that not return. So as the years passed, hearts grew sad, For love of forests both they had; But one loved what the timber made, The other, woods, as tall they staye...

  A candle in a window stands, And through the panes it glows As early darkness shrouds the land That slumbers ‘neath the snow. The single flame so feeble seems Against the dark of night, Its golden shimmer, sparkling keen Within a drape of white. Yet, flame untouched by wind and chill Still beckons warmly, “Come, And warm yourself, and feast your fill ’Til winter’s past and gone!”

An icy wind Begins to blow ‘mid mountains tall, And soon shall with it snowflakes fall, Upon a well-worn stoop to thaw. An icy wind From furthest north, from tundra drear, Howls ceaselessly for all to hear As by the hearth they gather near. An icy wind With frost and chill the winter brings; Yet, in the houses, people sing, “Joy to the world!”, “Hail to the King!”