XCIX A Cavalier War-Song
A steed, a steed, of matchless speed,
A sword of metal keen;
All else to noble hearts is dross,
All else on earth is mean.
The neighing of the war-horse proud, 5
The rolling of the drum,
The clangour of the trumpet loud,
Be sounds from heaven that come.
And oh! the thundering press of knights,
Whenas their war-cries swell, 10
May toll from heaven an angel bright,
And rouse a fiend from hell.
Then mount, then mount, brave gallants all,
And don your helms amain;
Death’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call 15
Us to the field again.
No shrewish tears shall fill our eye,
When the sword-hilt’s in our hand;
Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sigh
For the fairest in the land. 20
Let piping swain and craven wight
Thus weep and puling cry;
Our business is like men to fight,
And, like to heroes, die!
Anon.