Swaying in time as with weft and warp
Hoppoloi dreamt he heard the harp
Played by Lonia upon a bough
When he was woken by a messenger’s cough.
Lovely Lonia, his one sweet love
For whom he would mountains move
Had received a mortal wound
And now lay buried in cold ground.
The news to him was like a blow
It made him weep, rage and bellow.
He swore to avenge her life with war
And nothing would his purpose bar.
He pledged he’d never compromise
His quest now he had made his promise:
Without a pause, without a word,
He took up his trusty sword.
He vowed that he would find the one
Who with a stroke, made his heart stone.
O’er hills and plains he did wander
And to his body’s needs did not pander.
Despite a search that was thorough
His efforts did not seem enough
Til he heard of a villain, jealous and haughty
In an island fortress, cold and draughty.
It was Kolt who killed the maiden-pretty
And slew her there for reasons petty
For she’d refused him without fear
But with grace only a woman can bear.
Hoppoloi bought a boat at the quay
As he rowed he began to pray
That now he had discovered the key
To retribution, he’d hunt his prey.
He reached the isle, made the boat fast,
He drew his sword, ready to lambast
The villain Kolt: the time was ripe
For Hoppoloi’s vengeful recipe.
Upwards, striving, his purpose certain
He heeded not the freezing rain,
Which as he climbed turned into snow,
Never considering turning back now.
At last in a tower, broken and squalid
He spied Kolt, a brute for sure and no invalid.
Hoppoloi cried with heroic form
“Fight like a man! Don’t hide like a worm!”
Kolt from his vantage took his bow,
Loosing forth a deadly arrow.
His shield caught it, but now on guard,
Hoppoloi crept slowly forward.
Into the fortress, dark and dingy
He felt the air grow foul and clingy.
Upon a step he saw a jewelled comb:
It was Lonia’s who now slept in a tomb.
This great stitches of courage did sew
And his strength at once seemed to renew.
In the passage he came to a fork
He took the left and set to work.
A staircase with stones hewn rough
Took him up again, rising through
That cursed castle, placing boot after boot
As if some power guided each foot.
Finally no higher could he go
Out he stepped but he knew not what to:
There was Kolt, pale as a swan
Smiling as if he had a plan.
The rogue with wit as sharp as glass
Leapt with all his mighty mass!
Hoppoloi despite his hate and rage
Could not his enemy’s might disparage.
It was not mere hyperbole
The villain did play well his role:
Like a wave of strength Kolt washed
Over our hero and bashed and bashed.
But clutching fast Lonia’s comb
As if it were a mighty bomb
Hoppoloi rose up tall and stood
As if he’d taken nourishing food.
He rushed and smote Kolt six times, seven!
Suddenly the fight was even.
Hoppoloi shrugged away the ache,
Wielding his sword with panache.
At last he drove it home, purging malice,
Kolt was killed and with him, his vice.
Broken, Hoppoloi fell to all fours,
Staying thus for many hours.
There would be no victory feast,
Instead he beat upon his breast
Feeling as if his soul would tear
With grief for her that he held dear.
However many villains his sword gores
Though his quest’s complete, according to his mores,
Nothing will bring back who he loved most:
To him Lonia will be forever lost.