De João das Regras a 29.06.2010 às 01:01
(http://www.answers.com/topic/henry-ii)O Barão Bertran de Born (1140s – 1215) foi um cavaleiro francês nascido na Occitânia e subdito de Henrique II de Inglaterra, além de valoroso combatente também se notabilizou na poesia, principalmente num estilo "sirventes" de fundo politico ou militar, aqui fica um exemplo de um poema de sua autoria e que se poderá integrar no espirito.
Oh how I love the springtime fray
That brings the leaves and flowers out!
As much to hear the merry way
Of birds who throw their song about
To echo through the glen!
So much I love a meadow fair
Festooned with tents whose banners flare!
And oh! what rapture then
When ranks upon that field prepare,
Each armored knight upon his mare.
I love it when the scouts compel
The landed gentry there to flee,
A multitude of knights will swell
In hot pursuit and mounting glee.
And how I love it when
I see a crumbling castle tall
Besieged, with broken, tumbling wall,
The host advances then
Through sharpened staves contrived to maul
And ditches where the dead men fall.
So too I love the brave seignor
Who mounted, fearless, armored bright
Rides first into the fray and gore
For thus does he inspire with might
And valor all his men.
And when the battles escalate
Each man must cheerfully await
To follow him again.
For ‘till a foe you desecrate,
Your manhood’s only second-rate.
The club and sword and colored helm
The perforated, crumpled shield
Immediately overwhelm
The vassals fighting on the field.
Bewildered horses then
Run frantically, their riders bled.
And when they’re charging full ahead,
All brave and worthy men
Must look to hacking arm and head –
A coward’s worth less than the dead.
I tell you – sleeping, food nor drink,
Holds half the savor as the time
I hear both sides cry, “Too the brink!”
And when the panicked horses whine
And flee without their men.
I hear the cries of “Help!” in vain
And see them tumble, knight and thane,
In ditches on the fen.
Their splintered lances still remain
Upon the meadow, in the slain.
Go pawn your castle baron,
Your town, your city, all your store,
‘Ere ever you stop making war.