51

51

The days are gone when sword and poet’s pen

One gallant gifted hand was wont to wield;

When Taillefer in face of Harold’s men

Rode foremost on to Senlac’s fatal field,

And tossed his sword in air, and sang a spell

Of Roland’s battle-song, and, singing, fell.

The days are gone when troubadours by dozens

Polished their steel and joined the stout crusade,

Strumming, in memory of pretty cousins,

The Girl I left behind Me, on parade;

They often used to rattle off a ballad in

The intervals of punishing the Saladin.

In later times, of course I know there’s Byron,

Who by his own report could play the man;

I seem to see him with his Lesbian lyre on,

And brandishing a useful yataghan;

Though never going altogether strong, he

Managed at least to die at Missolonghi.

 Prev. P 45/80 next