Rosamunda by Jules

Fierce Alboin Born on the hostile plain, Son of ferocious migrants From northern swamps; Lord of the Lombards With piercing eyes of keenest blue And skin scorched hard and brown By relentless summer rays, And winter's bitter wrath: Did you not see On the banks of the Danube The fair child Rosamunda, Flaxen haired And sweet as a windflower In her home-spun dress Tinged with the juices of wìld berries? And did you not for desire of her Sweep down with your fearless warriors Like a crashing tidal wave, Engulfing the Gepidae settlements 0f her fore-fathers, Killing her beloved father and uncle And humiliating her grandfather The king? How triumphantly you carried her away Lashing your coal black steed ,Followed by your warriors Galloping up behind With their precious plundered trophies And decapitated heads, Riding through the thick forests0f the towerering snow-capped Alps Back to your kingdom at sunset. Alboin.Did you not see in the pining sky, Bleeding violets and roses, Mourning the fate of your sweet bride, A breathing premonition0f your own Dark death?