Ivanhoe

The Lionheart is shackled in a distant, foreign cell,
While shadows creep on England, cast by Prince John’s hollow spell.
He sows the seeds of discord where the Saxons meet the Dane,
To break the crown of Richard and to claim the throne in vain.
Amidst the storm of hatred, where the Norman daggers gleam,
A name rings out in honor, like a half-forgotten dream.


Oh, Ivanhoe, the fearless, without reproach or stain,
Through fire and through arrows, he brings the light again.
Though kingdoms turn to ashes and the brothers fight for gold,
His heart is bound to Rowena, in a story brave and bold.


Lord Patrick seeks to bind her to the noble Athelstan,
A marriage carved in silence to fulfill a desperate plan.
To bridge the Saxon divide, to keep the peace they say,
But Rowena’s soul is weeping as the colors fade to gray.
She loves the wandering knight, the one who left the shore,
While Cedric burns with anger, slamming shut the heavy door.


Disinherited and broken, forced to walk the path alone,
The son returns to ashes, to a cold and bitter throne.
He left his father’s blessing for the cross and desert sand,
To find the road back home again, across this fractured land.


The Crusades leave their scars upon the weary, iron shield,
Yet Ivanhoe returns to make his final, silent field.
He seeks no golden treasure, no title for his name,
Just peace within his father’s house, and quenching of the flame.
He yearns to see Rowena, to look into her eyes,
And leave behind the bitterness beneath the English skies.


Return to home, oh knight of light, the journey nears its end,
For love is more than lineage, and time is more than friend.
Ivanhoe, the fearless, the legend starts to wake,
For all the hearts he carries, and for all that is at stake.