Knights and their Days

Close let my sheaf of arrows stand;
My mighty battle-axe now bring;
My ashen spear place in my hand;
Around my neck my buckler sling.
Let my white locks once more be pressed
By the old cap of Milan steel;
Such soldier's gear becomes them best -
They love their old defence to feel.

'Tis well! Now buckle to my waist
My well-tried gleaming blade of Spain
My old blood leaps in joyful haste
To feel it on my thigh again.
And here this pendent loop upon,
Suspend my father's dagger bright;
My spurs of gold, too, buckle on -
Or Seward dies not like a knight."

'Twas done. No tear bedimmed his eyes -
His manly heart had ne'er known fear;
It answered not the deep-fetched sighs
Of friends and comrades standing near.
Death was upon him: that grim foe
Who smites the craven as the brave.
With patience Seward met the blow -
Prepared and willing for the grave.