  Sleepy Betsy from her pillow Sees the post and ball Of her sister’s wooden bedstead Shadowed on the wall. Now this grave young warrior standing With uncovered head Tells her stories of old battle, As she lies in bed. How the Emperor and the Farmer, Fighting knee to knee, Broke their swords but whirled their scabbards Till they gained the sea. How the ruler of that shore Foully broke his oath, Gave them beds in his sea cavern, Then stabbed them both. How the daughters of the Emperor, Diving boldly through, Caught and killed their father’s murderer, Old Cro-bar-cru. How the Farmer’s sturdy sons Fought the giant Gog, Threw him into Stony Cataract In the land of Og. Will and Abel were their names, Though they went by others; He could tell ten thousand stories Of these lusty brothers. How the Emperor’s elder daughter Fell in love with Will, And went with him to the Court of Venus Over Hoo Hill; How Gog’s wife encountered Abel Whom she hated most, Stole away his arms and helmet, Turned him to a post. As a post he shall be rooted For yet many years, Until a maiden shall release him With a fall of tears. But Betsy likes the bloodier stories, Clang and clash of fight, And Abel wanes with the spent candle, “Sweetheart, good-night!” |
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