Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/251



! a steed of matchlesse speed, A sword of metal keene! All else to noble heartes is drosse, All else on earth is meane. The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde, The rowlinge of the drum, The clangor of the trumpet lowde, Be soundes from heaven that come; And O! the thundering presse of knightes Whenas their war cryes swell, May tole from heaven an angel brighte, And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all, And don your helmes amaine: Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call Us to the field againe. No shrewish teares shall fill our eye When the sword-hilt's in our hand,—