 | My Sonnets |  |
23
FROISSART.
Heaven rest thy soul! old Chronicler, farewell.I grieve not that the days of chivalry
Sleep with thee, though meek Christianity
Harnessed herself, in radiant arms, to dwell
Among the nations, mercy still to tell
To those whose lust was war, who longed to be
Amid the crash of spears unendingly,
Drowning the shrieks of agony, the hell
Of sounds that from the warring hosts arose,
In what, to them, was sweeter than the sigh
Of lady fair, the yell of flying foes,
And the tempestuous shout of victory.
Reason rejoices, but, o'er where they sleep,
Comes fond imagination still to weep.
November 14th, 1842.
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