Incipit
The vicar sat in the firelight’s glow, A volume in his hand, And a tear he shed for the widespread woe, And the anguish brought by the vicious foe That overran the land. But never a hand for his King raised he, For he was a man of peace; And he car’d not a whit for the victory That must come to preserve his nation free, And the world from fear release. His son had buckled on his sword, The first at the front was he. But the vicar his valiant child ignor’d And his noble deeds in the field deplor’d, For he knew not bravery. On his flock he strove to fix his will, And lead them to …
679 mots · Poésie · texte intégral sur Wikisource.
Version transcrite — source non identifiée, 1917. (Le numéro dont Wikisource donne le texte ; ce n’est pas toujours la première parution.)
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