The Old Kings

All of the Old Kings
Are wakened from their sleep,
Arthur out of Avalon,
Ogier from the deep,
Redbeard from his Dragon-Rock,
Sigurd from his fen . . .
"Is it time," they rise and cry,
"To lead our hosts again?"
They have donned their wingéd helms,
They would rise and reign,
The young king Sebastian,
The old king Charlemagne,
Harold with his great bow,
Roland with his horn . . .
Men have heard their horses' hoofs
Many a scarlet morn!
The Old Kings have risen . . .
Where the hosts advance
Redbeard cries his Germans on,
Karle cries out for France,
Up and down the battlefield
Ghostly armies beat,
Stilly down the gray sea glides
Olaf's shadow-fleet:
Up and down the red fields
Men have seen them go,
Seen the long plumes on the wind,
Seen the pennons flow,
Harry out of Agincourt
Sends his bowmen wide,
Joan that has forgiven them
Battles at their side. . . .
Christ, king of Paradise,
Hasten with Thy hosts,
Angels all in silver mail,
Saints and blessed ghosts,
Cry the long swords sheathed again,
Cry the pennons furled,
Lest under Ragnarok
Lie the shattered world!