Year by year as his harvest grew
He gleaned with a lightsome heart;
His barns he filled, and he sowed and tilled,
Trading in port and mart.
Proud of his prowess in sport and trade
Was the Fool, who scoffed at an alien raid.
Little he recked of the gathering cloud
That boded a swift disgrace.
Was he not seed of a manly breed,
Proud son of a warlike race?
And he told of the deeds that his sires had done—
While he wielded a bat in the place of a gun.
Small were his fears in the rich, fat years,
Loud was his laugh of scorn
When they whispered low of a watching foe,
Greedy for gold and corn;
A foe grown jealous of trade and power,
Marking the treasure, and waiting the hour.
And, e'en when the smoke of the raiders' ships
Trailed out o'er the northern skies,
His laugh was loud: "'Tis a summer cloud,"
Said the Fool in his Paradise.
And, to guard his honour, he gave a gun
To the feeble hands of his younger son.
