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A warrior bold,
In Ho Sai old;
Alas! but no one knows him now.
Athwart the stream
Where waters gleam,
He sees the boats through billows plough.


His piebald steed
Has run to weed;
Nor bears his master to the fray.
His lance so long,
In arm so strong,
A beam, nor man, nor elf could stay.


And now the toll,
This noble soul,
Must count the livelong summer's day.
And fret himself,
With hoarded pelf;
And wear his wasted life away.


From Western lands
Our beaten bands
Return; but he our land could save;
He'd mount his steed,
And take the lead
Before ten thousand troopers brave.


And foemen die,
As arrows fly,
And sheath themselves in quiv'ring flesh.
Then from my car
I'll watch afar
My hero's valour rise afresh.