University of Virginia Library


223

Heraldic.

High in Battle's antler'd hall,
Ancient as its Abbey wall
Hangs a helmet, brown with rust,
Cobweb'd o'er, and thick in dust;
High it hangs, 'mid pikes and bows,
Scowling still at spectral foes,
Proud and stern, with visor down,
And fearful in its feudal frown.
When I saw, what ail'd thee, heart,
Wherefore should I stop, and start?—
That old helm, with that old crest,
Is more to me than all the rest;
Batter'd, broken, though it be,
That old helm is all to me.
Yon black greyhound know I well:
Many a tale hath it to tell
How in troublous times of old
Sires of mine, with bearing bold,
Bearing bold, but much mischance,
Sway'd the sword, or poised the lance,—
Much mischance, desponding still,
They fought and fell, foreboding ill.
And their scallop, gules with blood,
Fess'd amid the azure flood,

224

Show'd the pilgrim, slain afar
Over the sea in Holy War;
While that faithful greyhound black
Vainly watch'd the wild boar's track,
And the legend and the name
Proved all lost but hope and fame,—
Tout est perdu, fors l'honneur,
Mais “L'Espoir est ma force” sans peur.