A Steed! A Steed!

A steed! a steed! of matchless speed!

A sword of metal keen!

All else to noble hearts is dross—

All else on earth is mean.

The neighing of the war-horse proud,

The rolling of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet loud

Be sounds from heaven that come.

And, oh! the thundering press of knights,

When as their war-cries swell,

May tole from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mount! then mount! brave gallants all,

And don your helms amain;

Death's couriers, Fame and Honour, call

Up to the field again;

No shrewish tear shall fill our eye

When the sword hilt's in our hand;

Heart-whole we'll part and no whit sigh

For the fairest of the land.

Let piping swain and craven wight,

Thus weep and puling aye;

Our business is like men to fight

And like to Heroes, die