Dark was the cruel night of July

When softly came Red Polem to pry,

His mantle was red and his single blue eye

Glinted sharp on the man who would die,

His horse, name of Sable, was standing still

Was blacker still darker than coal in a mill,

And no one was sweeter than the girl on his back,

The maiden, young Lenae, who sat on the pack,

The grim time was coming for Polem to fight,

But dare he, dare he with his daughter in sight?

For his innocent child he was full of fear

Fearful of killing with her so near,

A moan from the slumbering guard at the door

Stirred Polem to swing the sword that he bore,

Then softly he listened for cry of dismay

But no sound came from the sleeping Lenae.