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Oh, lowly days. We did march to the land of Tex against the muleteers with high hopes. Our men full of vigor and heart. Never did they dance upon our fields or break our line, but danced just out of spears reach forever prodding and retreating. Aye, with strength of foot and arm we did nearly drive them from the field, but this day the fates scolded. They mocked our hubris and declarations. We got too bold, too sure of our charge and so, against the treacherous were bested, lured into foul ambush.
Our men too eager to conquer ran heedlessly as the horns blared. Victory seemed ours, but twas nothing more than an illusion, a trap... a wretched ambush that let their assassins sneak behind our lines and strike. This day was lost. Still, our men fought. They traded blows most desperate, but in our hurry the last opportunity was fumbled the last opportunity and lo, we were driven back to a broken Hall befouled by muleteers.
And what of it.
Do you cry into the hearth and lick thy wounds? Do you blanche after a misstep and let your heart whither like the uncollected grape? Do you like a babe hurry home and refuse to face the light after your first hurt? Or do you spite the press of misfortune and rise again. Is this a day for salty beer or a day to stand hail against those that would ram our lads. For be certain, rams will attempt to batter our walls down. They will meet us whether we are ready or no and have no mercy for our plight or hurts.
We could bow. We could cede our lands and give way. Tis easy to be the dog and snivel at a master who kicks you, but is your will so easily cowed? Do you beg for subjugation and expect defeat? Or will you stand and trust the strength of our arms, the discipline of our strategy? Do not beg for Luck I beg you, but instead make the day yours!
I ask again do you hail for victory or are you harried from the field before the first sounding horn. Will you hail your brothers and shout encouragement or fall to sour cynicism and bitter fear? Is your heart broken after the first setback or do you fight on sons of Washington?
Our men too eager to conquer ran heedlessly as the horns blared. Victory seemed ours, but twas nothing more than an illusion, a trap... a wretched ambush that let their assassins sneak behind our lines and strike. This day was lost. Still, our men fought. They traded blows most desperate, but in our hurry the last opportunity was fumbled the last opportunity and lo, we were driven back to a broken Hall befouled by muleteers.
And what of it.
Do you cry into the hearth and lick thy wounds? Do you blanche after a misstep and let your heart whither like the uncollected grape? Do you like a babe hurry home and refuse to face the light after your first hurt? Or do you spite the press of misfortune and rise again. Is this a day for salty beer or a day to stand hail against those that would ram our lads. For be certain, rams will attempt to batter our walls down. They will meet us whether we are ready or no and have no mercy for our plight or hurts.
We could bow. We could cede our lands and give way. Tis easy to be the dog and snivel at a master who kicks you, but is your will so easily cowed? Do you beg for subjugation and expect defeat? Or will you stand and trust the strength of our arms, the discipline of our strategy? Do not beg for Luck I beg you, but instead make the day yours!
I ask again do you hail for victory or are you harried from the field before the first sounding horn. Will you hail your brothers and shout encouragement or fall to sour cynicism and bitter fear? Is your heart broken after the first setback or do you fight on sons of Washington?
