'Twas the night before Bannerlod, when all through the house Not a Sturgian was stirring, not even a Hus; The drinking was done out of skulls with great care, In hopes that St. Jeremus might possibly be there; The Battanians were hidden all snug in the trees, While visions of ambush would find its way to release; And King Harlaus in Praven, and I on campaign, Had invited all Lords, for some butter with grain When out in Caladria, there arose such a clatter We all got to seige, with much more than a ladder. Away to the trebuchet I drew back a cache, And released flaming boulders, I’ll turn them to ash. The moon glistening off armor of quivering foes, Gave lust to my axe hand, to deliver great blows, When, what to my pillaging eyes should appear, Reinforcements arrive, grinning with a great sneer, With heavy crossbow and armor, not lively and quick, I knew in a moment what would do the trick, More rapid than eagles my coursers they came, (didn't even have to ch...