Throne of the Forsaken

Stint this bereavement dear friend! -
Wherefore dreegh me?
Nay leech, nay witch,
Doth but to cede my pall!"
Harness gilded, steed mounted.
Stern - I deem - a sire of conquer.
Alack! - Solely bethought -
Mayhap a song by the hearth?!

Uncouth esquire parch'd my veins -
Drat this sapling-drag! - Fray me! -
And heed me! - Aye! - Be naught! -
Should ye muster daggers in thy brow!
Fare well! - my kinsmen!