Now this is the ballad of seven men
Who rode to Wet Willows and back again.

It was only an hour before the dawn
When they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.

For they knew his sword long years had hung

On the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,―

They did not remember; the tale had been told
To them by their fathers, ere they grew old―

And then his sword was dreaded thing
When the men from the North came a-warfaring!)

But the women said that the things they knew
Were best made known to their master, too:

How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the ground
Some men who were dead and some who were bound

And unable to succor the women who wept
That the North-King had come while their warriors slept.

So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn,
Six men with their armor girded on

Had ridden around to the Eastern gate;
It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.

And when he came they were unafraid,
And knew no envy for those who stayed

Where the walls of the castle were strong and high;
There were none save some women to bid them good-by,

And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray,
That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way
These things were heard and seen by the sun
When noon at Wet Willows was nearly done.

After the battle, the King from the North
Bade his men lead the seven horses forth,
And bind, one on each, the Southern man
Who had dared to ride it when day began.

The words that the Northern King had said
Sir John and his men hear not, being dead;

(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knew
That Sir John’s son’s son in the East was true

To the cross that was white on the shield that he had):
Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;

Nor did they remember the trees by the way,
Or the streams that they crossed or the dead leaves that lay

By the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near,
They saw not its splendor; nor more did they hear

The wind that was moaning from hill unto hill:
Their leader,—his will was his horse’s will.

In the Eastern sky faint streaks of gray
Were changed to red, and it was day.

The women had waited all night long
Where the castle tower was high and strong;

And now, at last, they beheld Sir John,
And his men, and the horses they rode upon,

Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill.
The women’s cries rose loud and shrill,

And in their joy they pitied not,
The men Sir John and his men had fought

And slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not young
They knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,

In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,―
A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)
So they who had waited and watched and prayed
The long night through were no more afraid

To open the gate,—for Sir John and his men
Who had fought at Wet Willows were home again.