The glint of winter’s sun upon his helm,
He stands in silhouette against the sky,
A half-cerulean pallor o’er the realm
Of frozen waste, where echoes loud his cry.
His battle scream resounds across the snow
He charges forward, striking strong and true
The enemy collapses from the blow
And in a moment’s blink, the battle’s through.
Pomestnik Iastreb sheathes his silver blade
And trudges forward, many miles to go
Until departing this frostbitten glade
To leave behind the battle, to be home.
But standing in his way, another fiend
One moment more, again the silver gleams.

A tailor, tasked with patterning a man,
Composed his measurements with wise concern:
A mind too wide will never take a stand,
Too narrow and he’ll never seem to learn.
His body must be poised with grace and style
So that he moves and sways with dancer’s flair
And special care be given to his smile
For it belies, to all he meets, his care.
Be wary that his heart is wide and full
With room for all, a friend to everyone
And scribe upon the ancient golden rule
Do unto others as to you be done.
The tailor, finished pleased, now takes his leave
And in the pattern, find we, Seigneur Yves.

Thus reads the recipe for Aislinge Stew:
To start, a dash of intellectual salt
Three cups of tenderness and care infuse
With half a pint of Corwin’s bottled malt
Do bring to boil a temper, but cool down
With some compassion, rich as any broth
What’s next? A sharpened tongue in stock be found
(But never is it used to hurt, in troth)
To this, a pinch of gentle words do add
Include a bit of humor just for fun
And wisdom, don’t forget, lest this go bad
And serve with beauty when the cooking’s done.
This recipe is not so hard to cook
And makes the finest fellow in my book.

Upon a field of truly valorous gules
Alights a sacred heart of purest Or.
His wisdom, like a rare and precious jewel
Aligns in pale to guide his honest core.
In chief, an intellect as sharp as steel,
Integrity that suffers no disguise.
In base, a firm foundation: iron will
That will not falter, will not compromise.
The arms of Alexander Ravenscroft
Not lineage, but measure of his soul
Are not so lightly blazoned as I oft
Consider the summation of the whole:
In total drawn, the parts together rend
The emblazon: my peer, my brother, friend.

A sable feather lights upon the lake
Where late an aviary beauty swam.
No evidence aside lay in her wake;
She left as silently as she began.
With rich brocade her winged form adorned,
Each cygnet to her countenance aspires.
Upon the breeze the sable swan is borne,
Her silhouette against the clouds climbs higher.
Fair Svana swan does dance Aeolian gales.
She sways and darts o’er meadows far and wide.
All other winged creatures ‘gainst her pale,
With skill and style she takes wing to the sky.
No other daughter blessed with greater grace:
The sable swan of our Meridies.

If only ’twere his blade as razor sharp
As stands his wit, the world be torn to shreds,
But still the villains play that heavenly harp
When snicker-snack his foil removes their heads.
The fencer of the foxes holds the line
When rogues and scoundrels break the riverbend.
This border won’t be taken in his time
When fools to our sweet valley come again.
He’ll tip his hat when fairest flowers pass;
To tilt the head requires no great distract,
And as he smiles, his rapier finds its cache,
Its point upon opponent mid entr’acte.
Still comes another foe to challenge him,
The fencer of the foxes, Ursus Grim.

The stars are bright on this, the shortest day.
A fresh, white sheet of frozen linen lies
Across the yard, and more falls from the skies;
The wind in moonlight makes the snowflakes play.
Beside the fire reclining, my thoughts stray
To herald angels calling from on high,
To swaddled baby crying his first cry.
I close my eyes and, soft, begin to pray,
“My Lord, that you have given us your son
Enwrapped in human flesh, the Word became,
Fulfilling all the prophets did fortell,
I scarce can understand what you have done.
But truly thus I understand your name,
Oh God, abide with us, Emmanuel.”

The bards shall tell the tale in days ahead
Of those forsaken followers of a Crown
Corrupt and twisted by the gold that bred
Contempt and brought his wicked soul to drown

As crashed the tide of war, stones crumbling down
Upon the sodden earth where warriors fought
To rid the land of evil where ’twas found
And rout the villain til his deeds be caught

And truly thus did end this odious plot
As one by one the blind misguided men
Who stood in vain defending what was wrought
Did fall unto the ground again, again!

Against such righteousness, none could defend,
And pennons black and white became a flood
As death gave way to life, the tyrant’s end!
The ivory banners streaked with crimson blood.

When chivalry is strewn across the mud
And mire, opressive sovereign’s pow’r abused,
The warriors Meridian, for good
Will fight, no enemy’s decree refused

Let none be vague, no, let none be confused
The hand that holds the sword must hold it high
In faith and truth, with honor’s light suffused
Til lord’s release, the world end, or he dies

In this, the true Meridian spirit lies
That we will stand victorious on that day
And shout with honor, “Chivalry,” we cry,
“Is black and white without a trace of gray.”

With the toils of life behind us
And the tumult far away
We shall find the banners flying
Here to welcome us to stay

I will meet you where the clouds part
Where the summer breezes reach
I will meet you there and love you
At the castle in the breach

Where the flowers bloom so sweetly
In the spring between the hills
Where the river’s crystal waters
Brisk, in winter, winds in rills

Where the autumn leaves are falling
In the valley where you lay
I will hear you calling softly
And will join you, love, to play

I will meet you where the clouds part
Where the summer breezes reach
I will meet you there and love you
At the castle in the breach

When the trials of life are many
And the real world grows too hard
Come and meet me where the dream starts
Sung by some enchanted bard

Know that if your heart is heavy
And the fairy tale grows dim
Dear, let not your spirit tremble
Take a moment, wander in

I will meet you where the clouds part
Where the summer breezes reach
I will meet you there and love you
At the castle in the breach

“Go forth,” his steward said, “My Lord, take flight!
The boy is fine with us, he will be safe.
But you must leave before first morning light
Or to the battlefield you will be late!”

Fair Genevieve, his lady wife, stood near
His side, her countenance was solemn, still
“My dearest Lord, we musn’t take up fear
But ‘stead, with haste, take up your spear and shield,

“Sir Morgan waits to issue his command
And needs each warrior standing ready guard
For armies great stretch forth before his hand
And larger still, the armies ‘cross the yard.”

He took his tiny son in arms, and smiled.
And by his crib he turned and slowly knelt
“Tonight, my boy, our cart shall cross the miles,
For tomorrow, we shall join the fray in Hell.”

The steward checked the bags and gave the reins
And Genevieve stepped up into her seat.
Lord Seamus left his child there with great pains
Inside the crib that sat before his feet.

He took his place and readied up his team
And gave the cry, “Now south, unto the shore
Of that great gulf where armies toil and teem,
To fight beside my general in the war!”

Throughout the night, the thunder crashed and rolled
The ground upon which Seamus’s horse did race
And tightly to his arm, his wife did hold
As through the night they matched the Devil’s pace

The winds’ increasing screams the horse did fright.
He bucked, Lord Seamus whipped the reins and cursed
And neighing loud, the steed pressed on in spite
Defiant, drove into the wailing bursts

At morning’s light, the captain took the field
And all across, his men stood bold and brave
“Fierce warriors, to our foes we shall not yield!
Let only God their trembling spirits save!”

His eyes took in the rows of shields and spears
And one brave face he could not spot amongst,
When suddenly Lord Seamus did appear
“Sir Ironheart, I come to join the hunt!”

Upon the sodden ground, the soldiers stood
And heartened were they by my Lord’s great cry.
“Today, my friends, the earth shall soak in blood
As swift and brave our blades and arrows fly!”

They took the field against Trimeris men
And stared into the eyes of those ahead.
And seeing trembling shields and spears, they grinned
The battle would be theirs, the foes soon dead.

You see, the enemy knew now great fear
And came the call, “Shift left, their best we face!”
Our army vast had cost them losses dear
And now respect they paid Meridies

Now given chance to best us, came the fray
And spears and swords did gleam the growing sun
Sir Morgan shouted, “Go men! Take the day!
Trimeris and Gleann Abhann soon will run!”

The arrows of the foe flew fast and sure
And downed a many brave beside my Lord
“This cannot be!” he cried, “There’ll be no more!”
And threw himself into the shouting horde.

He broke in through and climbed the bodies dead
And found a row of yeomen firing fast
He could not take them, though his allies bled
And knew that, in this hailstorm, they’d not last

He dove for shelter ‘neath his brother’s shield
And called to Ironheart to meet his side,
“My captain! I have found the yeomen’s field
And with my help, no man o’er there may hide!”

He quickly drew a line into the mire
And gave his knowledge to the captain’s guard
“Lord Seamus, you, must walk into that fire
For only you can take us through that yard.”

He readied up his shield and took his spear,
The sweat poured down his face and off his back.
My Lord, however, knew not any fear
And quickly called to instigate attack

“Good men of Gunther’s merit, charge that line!”
He called and aimed his spearhead toward the fray
The men before them hit the ground in time
And charged ahead, Lord Seamus, on that day

But as his own compatriots took down
The line of archers standing, thought they, well,
A half a dozen glaives became a crown
Intent on being worn by Seamus’s helm

“My Lord, beware!” a spearman cried in vain
As Seamus raised his shield to save the blow
And shattered was the wood, clear split in twain
Twice dented was the handle placed below

And my good Lord upon the grass did fall
His noble sacrifice became quite clear
As our Meridies took up the call
“The bows are gone! Good nobles, take the spear!”

As rose the midday sun, my Lord did see
The field awash with blood his brothers spilled
But not was it from their own vains, no he
Could see that it was Trimeris ‘been killed

And as he raised his chest in final breath
He saw his son, his eyes were bright and clear
And smiling, knew the nobleness of death
Would give his son the honor to best fear

Meridies did take the fight that morn
And long would be remembered from that day
That on his shoulders chivalry was borne
Lord Seamus, plunging deep into the fray

And Genevieve brought home the shattered tree
That bore the arms of such my noble Lord
His shield, though broken, bore the truth we see,
That heavenly crown, Lord Seamus’s reward.