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12

THE CAVALIERS' MUSTER.

Here is Sir Reginald, gentle and true,
Courtly and bright in his silver and blue;
There is old Philip behind him as gruff,
Sturdy and grim in his orange and buff.
Here is Bob Darcy still smoothing his hair,
For the frost dew has silvered his love-lock so fair;
And there is the blackamoor close at his back,
Laughing and patting a pottle of sack.
See how old Oliver (fie on his name)
Opens the flag that blows out like a flame;
Up fly the swords of a dozen or two,—
Were gentlemen ever so trusty and true?
13

How the brave lad with the feather of white,
Struggles and strains, yet with looks of delight,
At the huge sable charger his father has lent,
His red coat still drips from the flood of the Trent.
With careful set faces the trumpeters puff,
The drummer works hard at the drum-skin so tough,
As the sheriff rides up, with a parchment pulled out,
And reads as he can through the cheer and the shout.
Now a pull at their bridles, a word and a cry,
A frown at the earth and a smile at the sky,
A setting of cloaks, a low curse (half in play),
And the sixty brave gentlemen gallop away.
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