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Of ladyes beautiful and gay,
Who must have loved the Jasmine well—
Ventured, all humbly, then to sing
Unto the Bard an answering strain,
Which, while the flower we hither bring,
Perchance ye'll listen to again.
And might not e'en the Jasmine tree
In sterner days enwreath the tower,
Which now it robes luxuriantly,
With em'rald leaf and pearly flower?
Were none but warriors tenants here—
The armed serf, the belted knight,
With falchion keen, and poised spear,
Helm, shield, and cuirass gleaming bright?
I know they'd pass the Jasmine tree,
Nor even glance at aught so frail,
While o'er them waved triumphantly
Their banner in the morning gale:
I know the fragrance that it cast
Their rugged souls no joy could yield;
They only heard the trumpet's blast
That called them to the battle field.
