September 18: Boast With the Most, or In the Mead Hall

The hallowed land of Lincoln was my home,

My father’s house of mighty logs was built

With watchful eye the acres I did roam

Preventing blameless blood from being spilt.

Each day as I would tread the twisting trails,

I sent a dozen songs out on the breeze-

My merry music made the wicked quail

And charmed the very squirrels from their trees.

From forest to great lake ambition spurred,

And finally, a kingdom by the sea.

My wit, my melodies, and winsome words,

Shall everlasting glory guarantee.

Here in the l...