Four verses of three lines each was what it took for Robinson Jeffers to sum up the Hubris of the lions of men.
Verse Three
“Kings buried in the lee of the saint,
Kings of Fierce Norway, blood-boltered Scotland, bitterly dreaming
Treacherous Ireland.”
Jeffers takes time in the slow verse to clothe his muse in the rocky bones and spare flesh of a fierce land, which evokes his contemporary, Robert E. Howard more than anything I have read outside of Howard’s canon.
Boltered
Blood´-bol`tered
a. 1. Having the hair matted with clotted blood.
Wonderful! Made my tedious Friday afternoon great again, James.
A line of Jeffers is better than a drink.
Glad you appreciate the old poet.
Take care.