Classic Poem

How often, in the days now fled,
We've seen our homely table spread,
And gathered to the simple meal
With pleasure we would not conceal!
Though not for us the costly wines,
The red heart-tribute of the vines,
Yet richer draught, from purer skies,
We drink from loved, familiar eyes.
What though our fare is plain, indeed,
It yet is plenty to our need;
We count each presence at the feast
More precious far than all the East,
With spice, and sweets, and golden ore,
Might bring us from her richest shore.
Our dishes old, of quaint design,
Will never cause us to repine;
The chippings in the ancient stone
Will help each one to tell his own.
The homespun linen is as white
As snowfields on a winter night;
Our candle lights as honest faces
As ever met in kingly places;
For jewels, youthful eyes and old
Flash out a wealth that ne'er was told;
For which we hold in high disdain
The gems of Good Alraschid's reign.
Stranger, 'twould do you good to see
Our hearty, homebred company;
When, gathering from the haunts of strife,
We enter in our sweet home-life.
The fervent grace, but briefly said,
Unloads each heart, while bows each head;
And then all round the happy place
Love's language flies from face to face,
With smile and laughter, pun and jest,
And kindly act and sweet request,
Mixed with adventures of the day,
The grave discussion and the gay;
Thus ready thought, fleet-winged with sound,
Our Mercury, speeds the cup around.
A health then, knights and ladies all,
Who gather in our festal hall!
Here's Enid and here's Imogen,
Both fair and gracious to our ken;
Here's to our Arthur and Geraint,
To patron and to mother saint!
We drink to all who couch their spears
In honor of these later years
When eyes too often lose the fire
Enkindled by some knightly sire.
Believe me, 'tis not yet grown cold,
The blood that fired the days of old!
For though we ply our peaceful arts,
We wear our crests upon our hearts,
And he who throws deriding glance
Meets shining shield and level lance!