It’s said south of Samarand They brew a brown beer bitter with barley Yet hearty and hale. There are wines in the west That Serapha sips flavored and favored By her kin and court. Heavy and hearth-hot And sweeter than syrup they mark a man’s mouth With the color of coal. But all travelers tell Of the fields to the east where wheat grows so golden It shines like the sun. This wheat brews a beer That is better than any, sweeter than sunlight And stronger than stone. A man with a mouthful Would never want water, nor food, nor a woman to liven his bed. A sheaf of King’s wheat is much better bottled Than wasted by those who would grind it for bread. This king of the east was well-weighted with wisdom; He built a broad hearth-hall with timber and tar. He bade all the best men be brought to his banner And his sweet wheaten beer drew the folk from afar. Strong was his shield-arm swift was his spear. They called him King Wheaton in praise of his beer. Brave were the thanes the king gathered around him Loyal as hearth hounds and fiercer than fire. Faithful they followed him proud of his prowess. Stories they sang how he had challenged The dread demon Doramun though just a boy. Vile visaged Doramun taller than trees Strong as a sea-storm face withered and white. Doramun hungered and men were his meat The demon devoured them feasting on foes. Seven stout soldiers had fallen before him Yet the young boy-king stood stalwart and strong. Bracing the bright blade of his steady spear So swiftly he struck that damned Doramun fell His fierce features fixed in a grin of surprise. He hewed off the head and created his crest. Thereafter the boy bore the face of his foe Brightly emblazoned across his brave breast. The Wheaton king’s hearth-hall was fourfold in fame For both beer and bravery known far and wide. Later his lady love joyously joined him. Fairest Felicia who sat at his side.
