169
The Merry Gallant.
The Merry Gallant girds his sword,
And dons his helm in mickle glee!
He leaves behind his lady love
For tented fields and deeds which prove
Stout hardiment and constancy.
When round him rings the din of arms—
The notes of high-born chivalry,
He thinks not of his bird in bower,
And scorns to own Love's tyrant power
Amid the combats of the Free.
Yet in the midnight watch, I trow,
When cresset lights all feebly burn,
Will hermit Fancy sometimes roam
With eager travel back to home,
Where smiles and tears await—return.
"Away! away!" he boldly sings,
"Be thrown those thoughts which cling to me;
