242
Then I my coat of mail will don,
And couch my trusty lance;
There's many a castle to be won
In fair and jocund France.
My halls are empty—but I'll come,
St. George my weapon guide!
With laurel-crested basnet home
And the red gold beside.
The blue eyed maids of England scorn
My ruined house and me,
But there are brides as highly born
In stately Normandy;
And he who in the battle field
Shall prove the stoutest knight,
Will find the eye of beauty yield
Its smile of sunniest light,
