The Conquest
The Son of Love and Lord of War I sing;
Him who bade England bow to Normandy,
And left the name of Conqueror more than King
To his unconquerable dynasty.
Not fanned alone by Victory's fleeting wing,
He reared his bold and brilliant throne on high;
The Bastard kept, like lions, his prey fast,
And Britain's bravest Victor was the last.
The Son of Love and Lord of War I sing;
Him who bade England bow to Normandy,
And left the name of Conqueror more than King
To his unconquerable dynasty.
Not fanned alone by Victory's fleeting wing,
He reared his bold and brilliant throne on high;
The Bastard kept, like lions, his prey fast,
And Britain's bravest Victor was the last.
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