1. Persistent in the din of battle's rage,
I left him though he fled in haste away;

2. He rode his steed though stumbling, lame with age,
Between the horse and rider what can stay?

3. I do not seek mean sustenance though poor,
Such abject begging leaves me more ashamed

4. Than poverty. Misfortune's daughters pour
Around me now when my own sons are maimed.

5. So War assails me with its army's might,
And Fate attacks with armies of the night.