 | Poems |  |
121
TO B. T.
Though Youth is fresh upon us, we are squiresOf Poesy, and swell her shining train,
With all the belted knights, whose prowess fires
Our hearts to do what noble deeds remain;
The golden spurs are ours ere many days
If we are true; then let us join our hands,
And knit our souls in Friendship's holy bands,
To help each other in the coming frays.
Envy and hate are for the low and mean:
We will be noble rivals, oftentime
Crossing our spears in tournaments of rhyme,
In friendly tilts to glorify our Queen;
Friendly to all save caitiffs foul and wrong,
But stern to guard the Holy Land of Song!
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