 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
THE LADY'S HAND.
To horse! to horse! the trumpet sings,
'Midst clank of spear and shield;
The knight into his saddle springs,
And rushes to the field;
A lady look'd from out her bow'r,
A stately knight drew near,
And from her snowy hand she dropt
Her glove upon his spear;
He placed it on his helmet's crest,
And join'd the gallant band;
“The lady's glove but now is mine,
But soon I'll win the hand!”
'Midst clank of spear and shield;
The knight into his saddle springs,
And rushes to the field;
A lady look'd from out her bow'r,
A stately knight drew near,
And from her snowy hand she dropt
Her glove upon his spear;
He placed it on his helmet's crest,
And join'd the gallant band;
“The lady's glove but now is mine,
But soon I'll win the hand!”
57
Above the plunging tide of fight
The plumes now dance, like spray,
Where many a crest of note and might
Bore proudly through the fray;
But still the little glove was seen
The foremost of the band,
And deadly blows the fiercest fell
From that fair lady's hand;
Before the glove each foeman flies!
Its onset none can stand:—
More fatal e'en than lady's eyes
Was that fair lady's hand.
The plumes now dance, like spray,
Where many a crest of note and might
Bore proudly through the fray;
But still the little glove was seen
The foremost of the band,
And deadly blows the fiercest fell
From that fair lady's hand;
Before the glove each foeman flies!
Its onset none can stand:—
More fatal e'en than lady's eyes
Was that fair lady's hand.
And now the trumpet sounds retreat,
The foeman drops his crest,
The fight is past, the sun has set,
And all have sunk to rest—
Save one—who spurs his panting steed
Back from the conquering band,
And he who won the lady's glove,
Now claims the lady's hand;—
'Tis won,—'tis won!—that gallant knight
Is proudest in the land:—
Oh! what can nerve the soldier's arm
Like hope of lady's hand!
The foeman drops his crest,
The fight is past, the sun has set,
And all have sunk to rest—
Save one—who spurs his panting steed
Back from the conquering band,
And he who won the lady's glove,
Now claims the lady's hand;—
'Tis won,—'tis won!—that gallant knight
Is proudest in the land:—
Oh! what can nerve the soldier's arm
Like hope of lady's hand!
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |