Again at gates the hero stands
A hunters prize he holds in hand.
And calls for king to come alone
From granite palace, tyrants home.
To take his hind at entrance door
For claiming beast is kingly chore.
"I bid you come and take your claim
You made on goddess fabled game.
This hallowed beast from foreign lands
Must only touch a princely hand.
So come to gate and gain your hind
That hero searched the world to find."
The whole of city hears his cries
And mock the king they all despise.
So king though hating sovereigns role
Does rise and down to gates he goes.
Once reaching site he quakes to see
The hero back from hunting spree.
A dreadful aura chokes the air
That's cause by hunters hateful glare.
Together knees of tyrant smote.
Beholding sight the hero gloats.
"Oh bravest king I bring your doe
To mount on rack in stone abode.
So come and take your magic game
A trophy fit for royal fame."
On ground the hero lays the hind
And swiftly cuts its magic binds.
Then steps away from fabled deer
As King of Tyrne does draw yet near.
And hefts the hind on shoulders high
For all the serfs in realm to spy.
But hero hurts for huntress god
That nightly realm in treetops trods.
He waits for king to turn his back
Then raises godlike hands and claps.
And sound like thunder shook the earth
With blast that covers kingdoms girth.
From Somnus keep the beast awakes
And kicks and writhes to soon escape.
With mighty strength it struggles free
And quick to wilder places flees.
To leave the king now laid in dust
With broken bones and pride that's bust.
"My task was done when hind you took
From kings own hand the beast was shook.
My labors justly serve to lord
Now grant your servant fourth of chores.
So demi-god is quickly free
Performing task as hero please."
In rage and pain the king does scream
His eyes with craven vengeance gleam.
"A harsher master hero needs
To pluck his pride like wretched weed!
The feral queens the one for task
In hero's pain will mistress bask!
For every servant queen does slay
In grave do all her vassals lay.
For fourth of task I king decree
A year of service hero's fee!
To cruelest Omphale Lydias queen!"
In victory tyrants eyes do gleam.
"