THE FALL OF CHIVALRY.
AH! They are gone, and never more
Can the brave knight go forth to war—
No more shall Love and Beauty's smile,
The wand'ring troubadour beguile!
The helmet hangs upon the wall—
The lance is rusted in the hall;
All, save the glory and the name,
Have perished like a dying flame!
They sleep like those brave ones of old,
Who lie 'neath tombs so hard and cold,—
Their bones have mouldered into dust,
Their souls have met the Lord, I trust.
The arms that fought in many a fray,
And noble forms that led the way,
Are sleeping in some ancient aisle,
Or 'neath some old and ruined pile
Now mingling with the weeds and grass,
Can the brave knight go forth to war—
No more shall Love and Beauty's smile,
The wand'ring troubadour beguile!
The helmet hangs upon the wall—
The lance is rusted in the hall;
All, save the glory and the name,
Have perished like a dying flame!
They sleep like those brave ones of old,
Who lie 'neath tombs so hard and cold,—
Their bones have mouldered into dust,
Their souls have met the Lord, I trust.
The arms that fought in many a fray,
And noble forms that led the way,
Are sleeping in some ancient aisle,
Or 'neath some old and ruined pile
Now mingling with the weeds and grass,
