pre:

My voice upraised toward the sky in song,
I call my patron Muse. In youth I would
Frequently write soft words to earn your smile,
Yet now I tarnish every syllable
Invoking you for competition's sake.
The gods of Thunder rule this work be now writ:
With heavy heart to them I must submit.

Sing we the song of Cleon's fall with Urn.

Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly,
Through forest deep and dry it stalked
Sly Urn and Cleon both, their men long dead
And bronze made molten ruin. Cleon ran
With Urn within his arms and screamed in fear.
Betrayed they both had been, and now the beast
Might burn the towns and kill again. Yet first
It came for Urn the sharp of eye, its mark
Upon his flesh and hunger on its tongues.
Fair Cleon could yet hurl him down and flee,
Hero not he, but bonds of purpose held
The men together fast, as did memory.

	Met they within the charnel house, once home
	To Urn the sharp of eye, all people gone
	As ash upon the wind save he. Sly Urn
	With bow accosted Cleon from afar,
	Demanding "Who are you to come this way?
	Dressed bright in bronze and fair of look are you,
	But none know more than I that evil walks
	Aflame with grace. Be gone before I shoot
	This barb into your heart!" Not idle was
	His threat, for many men had met their end
	Unknowing whence the blow had came, or how
	So small a man could shoot so far and true.

	Now Cleon fair removed his helm and laughed,
	Stentorian as booming voice that once
	Against the edge of all the earth was raised.
	He was a man still young and strong, untried
	By world, untroubled he, for hopelessly
	The path ahead appeared to have no end.
	"A target fair I am to you," said he,
	"Without this guard upon my head. Might you
	Let loose against a man still garbed in bronze
	And cut him low, then you may be the sort
	To aid this fair villain. For murderous
	The course upon which I set out today."

	Sly Urn beheld the truth, many the times
	Deceit tried creep into the hunter's home.
	Like poor Tiresias blind-struck, mere chance
	Left him alive but changed for worse compared
	To who had he in youth once been. Also
	Like poor Tiresias blind-struck, skill rare
	Had come in wake of tragedy, the bow
	The means allowing Urn to years survive.
	Unlike Tiresias blind-struck, no god
	With gift or curse had come, his sight still keen,
	Still clear the gaze of Urn the sharp of eye.
	"The beast you seek: I saw it long ago."

Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly,
Through tree and smoke it came for them, narrow
Its eye and fierce its roar. 'Neath canopy
In darkness Cleon stumbled far, heavy
The load of Urn the sharp of eye. For miles
Too great to count he gave a great account:
Onward he pressed when breath had left his chest
And only fear endured. Not only fear!
For kinship held to him when hope had fled
As like a lover holds when lust is spent.
Hero not he, Cleon bereft of bronze
Ran from the boughs and saw the cliffs distantly.

	With men in tow across the land they searched,
	Until at last its tracks Urn spied upon
	The sand beside the cliffs: glassen the steps
	Left by the beast. "Now soon," said Cleon bold,
	"Revenge will come for Urn the sharp of eye,
	Too long delayed." Sly Urn was not impressed.
	"For what, or whom," asked Urn, "do you this quest
	engage? Some death? Or glory offered you?"
	Again fair Cleon laughed, then mirth dispersed
	Lest he offend. "This task," said Cleon low,
	"To win the praise of maiden bloody, queen
	Of all within the stormy northern bowl."

	Said Urn, "The deed alone shall satisfy;
	Your reasons are your own. Of deed let now
	We speak. What means the beast can pacify?
	There! See it moved away from sea? Perhaps
	A fear we can exploit?" Fair Cleon smiled.
	"No need," said Cleon sure, "have we of surf
	Or rain to quell our prey. Advised am I
	By queen of blood that flame cannot endure
	With kin, so suffocate the fiend in fire
	And see it snuffed." Sly Urn was not impressed.
	"Let us but hope," said Urn, "this queen of blood
	Is right. The blaze takes all it gives its mark."

Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly,
Through moonless night the pair it chased,
On Urn the sharp of eye its brand. At edge
Of rock fair Cleon stood, there leaning out
To hear the pound of wave on stone as like
The axeman counts the time in beats of drum
With growing dread and tightened gut, waiting
For rare reprieve or time at last his weight
To drop. His legs atremble, Cleon held
Against his breast sly Urn so small and still.
Hero not he, as glowing flame close came
Cleon bereft of bronze stayed resolutely.

	In forest deep and dry a trap was set
	To catch and kill the seething beast. Know all
	Who read these stalwart names how great their work:
	Pallas the still, Nestor the old, Stephan
	The worthy, Callias serene, spartan
	Astro, the tall Alexander, Echo
	The simple, Lucas, son of Callias,
	Sly Urn and Cleon bright in bronze. All ten
	Began the night arrayed against the fiend.
	How long they hid! Until at last they heard
	When Urn the sharp of eye drew breath and cried
	"Tyger, profane Tyger! Burning brightly!"

	At once the men to trees set light; behind
	The smoke the Tyger slunk. Sly Urn was pale
	With memory rekindled, now he looked
	Upon that hell again. The moment stretched,
	The fire toward the sky climbed high, all coughed...
	Then crashing came the Tyger through the wall.
	Tyger, profane Tyger, burning too bright,
	Made strong by forest set alight, so grew
	That beast of fire, titian and dark. To ash
	Went eight in flash of hate, and Urn
	Blinded. Cleon shed bronze, raised Urn, and fled.

Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly,
Approached its prey. As tongues licked rock and scorched
His back, fair Cleon gave decree: "No man
So brave should fall alone!" So then he leapt
To death with Urn, and down into the waves
The Tyger plunged with both, at last snuffed out.

The ocean wept to feel blind Urn embraced,
Her tears of salt welled up to flood the land,
And touching Urn upon his ruined face
Restored his sight, with kiss retreating back.
Hero, he woke as dawn then broke, at peace
To hear fair Cleon's laugh upon the bay.