Poems (Procter)/A Knight Errant
A KNIGHT ERRANT.
HOUGH he lived and died among us, Yet his name may be enrolledWith the knights whose deeds of daring Ancient chronicles have told.Still a stripling, he encountered Poverty, and struggled long,Gathering force from every effort, Till he knew his arm was strong.
Then his heart and life he offered To his radiant mistress—Truth;Never thought, or dream, or faltering, Marred the promise of his youth.
So he rode forth to defend her, And her peerless worth proclaim;Challenging each recreant doubter Who aspersed her spotless name.
First upon his path stood Ignorance, Hideous in his brutal might;Hard the blows and long the battle Ere the monster took to flight.
Then, with light and fearless spirit, Prejudice he dared to brave;Hunting back the lying craven To her black sulphureous cave.
Followed by his servile minions, Custom, the old Giant, rose;Yet he, too, at last was conquered By the good Knight's weighty blows,
Then he turned, and, flushed with victory, Struck upon the brazen shieldOf the world's great king, Opinion, And defied him to the field.
Once again he rose a conqueror, And, though wounded in the fight,With a dying smile of triumph Saw that Truth had gained her right,
On his failing ear re-echoing Came the shouting round her throne;Little cared he that no future With her name would link his own.
Spent with many a hard-fought battle, Slowly ebbed his life away,And the crowd that flocked to greet her Trampled on him where he lay.
Gathering all his strength, he saw her Crowned and reigning in her pride;Looked his last upon her beauty, Raised his eyes to God, and died.