Classic Poem

Who would true Valour see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come Wind, come Weather.

There's no Discouragement,
Shall make him once relent,
His first avow'd intent,
To be a Pilgrim.

Who so beset him round
With dismal Stories,
Do but themselves confound,
His Strength the more is;
No Lion can him fright,
He'll with a Giant fight,
But he will have a right,
To be a Pilgrim.

Hobgoblin nor foul Fiend
Can daunt his spirit;
He knows he at the end
Shall Life inherit.
Then Fancies fly away,

He'll fear not what men say,
He'll labour night and day
To be a Pilgrim.