The cry arose.
"King Ring is dead; his place to fill
A king we'll choose."

From off the wall the peasant moves
His steel sword blue;
Its edge his practiced finger proves,
It biteth true.

The boys admire in pleased surprise
The gleaming blue:
To lift the sword one vainly tries,
It needeth two.

The daughter scours the helmet clean,
Bright shall it be.
And blushes, in its silvery sheen
Her face to see.

At last he takes his shield so round.
A sun in blood;
"Hail! iron man, so strong and sound,
Thou peasant good!

Renown and power which nations wield
From thee they draw,
In war thou art thy country's shield,
In peace its law."

The assembly met, while sounding high