The Peasant Son

I know naught, but what thou hath told me.
I have grown sheltered, yea, verily,
No parcel of will or hope to lead me.
I seek adventure, sweet release from this monotony,
To sail blue seas, borne of Posidon,
O'er tides and swells, to reach the horizon.
To battle with creatures, nay, monsters abroad
Ye children of demons, creations of gods.
Smote by sword, baptised in blood,
Pretty dreams of a peasant son.