Britons and Celts
Wha Daur Meddle Wi Me?
“Upon the head, so fierce he struck at one,
The shearing sword cut thro’ his collar bone:
Another on the arm, that stood near by,
He struck, till hand and sword on the field did lie.” […]
Poetry
Britons and Celts
The Well Fletched Arrows Flew at the Foe
“Then jolly that gentle giant out jousted another,
Cut a wide swath as he scythed down warriors,
Woefully wounding those who stood in his way.” […]
Britons and Celts
Not Built to Turn the Other Cheek
“But Wallace quickly brought the rascal back,
And there give him the whistle of his plack.
Along his ribs he gave him such a rout,
Till all his entrails and his lungs hung out;” […]
Humor
An Axe to the Bottle-Back
“. It was very dark and as he was walking down from the boat-shed Thorfinn ran up to him and struck him between the shoulder blades with an axe, which sunk in with a squelch.” […]
Britons and Celts
Gawain’s Fury
“Then Sir Gawain on his gray steed
Gripped a great spear and speedily spiked him;
Through the guts and gore his weapon glided
Till the sharpened steel sliced into his heart.” […]
Britons and Celts
The Violent Youth of a Violent Hero
“His dagger with the other hand drew out,
In spite of all his men so throng about,
And boldly without either fear or dread,
Upon the spot he stick’d young Selbie dead.” […]
Greek and Roman
The Clash of Armies
“Wildly as two winter torrents raging down from the mountains, swirling into a valley, hurl their great waters together, flash floods from the wellsprings plunging down in a gorge and miles away in the hills a shepherd hears the thunder – so from the grinding armies broke the cries and crash of war.” […]
Greek and Roman
Homer’s Poetry of Battle
“Paris sprang from the Trojan forward ranks, a challenger, lithe, magnificent as a god, the skin of a leopard slung across his shoulders, a reflex bow at his back and battle-sword at his and brandishing two sharp spears tipped in bronze he strode forth, challenging all the Argive best to fight him face-to-face in mortal combat.” […]
Humor
The Reappearing Prick
“She bends to carry out her quest
And puts her hand into his breeches
And feels around until she reaches
A proud prick straining at the bit;
She cups her hand and fondles it.” […]
Britons and Celts
A Ghostly Reminder of Dark Deeds
“Then, sword in hand, with daring front erect,
Mov’d to the gate, where, to his odd surprise,
The frightful Faudon stood before his eyes,
Holding his bloody head in his right hand.” […]