Classic Poem

I

I think these limbs are strong again,
These scanty locks are newly brown;
In thought I mount my steed amain
And ride afar for her renown.

In dusty lists, where trumpets blare,
I quell the dourest knights that live,
And crown her queen of beauty there,
And kiss the glove she bends to give.

I sail afar 'neath orient stars,
Climb terraced slopes of Palestine,
Shout Agnes through the helmet bars,
And break the Paynim's turbaned line.

I carry slaughter through the tents,
I stain with blood the Kedron's tide;
I mount the holy battlements,
And aye for her I strike and ride.

Thou fair and noble Damozel,
Thy name shall be my battle-cry
In joust and storm and charging mell,
Wherever knight may do or die.

II

He summoned archer, squire and steed,
He pledged anew his lordly wealth;
Then raised a golden cup of mead,
And, ere he mounted, drank her health.

Alas, O loving heart and pure!
The light is fading from his eyes;
And sighing, " Agnes, reine d'Amour! "
He drinks to her, but drinking dies.

And where was she? — In castle hall
She danced to pipe and dulcimer;
She knew not anything at all
Of him who dying drank to her.

III

In the Golden City

The Old Knight:

O Lord, thou knowest what befell
That latest love thou grantedst me
While I was living. Was it well
To quench it as it 'gan to be?

The Lord:

'Twas well. No rosebud damozel
Can bloom aright on blighted tree;
And time it was for thee to see
The mansions where my good knights dwell.

The Old Knight:

I thank thee, Lord, I worship Thee;
Thy grace is more than tongue can tell.
But, one last favor, Lord! will she,
My love, betide to Heaven or Hell?

Chorus:

He loved a rosebud maiden,
The knight of silver hair;
And never a saint in Aidenn
Will seem to him so fair;
And, be it in Hell or Aidenn,
He hopes to find her there.