Page:Friendship's Offering 1828.pdf/3

14

I will not fight for lady's love, Life is a price too high; I will not shed my blood for what A few soft words will buy.

And still less reck I of the fame For which the madman bleeds; 'Tis but a record on the page One of a thousand reads.

See, yonder sweeps my pennon brave, With byzants scattered o'er But sparingly,—they were my last— Now I must fight for more.

I love the festal hall, where smiles Light up the purple wine; And ever to win entrance there, Or gold or steel must shine.

My banner, with its red byzants, Points out the soldier's way— On, on! that golden crest must be The foremost in the fray.

L. E. L.