Claribel and Other Poems By W. J. Linton |
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NATURE'S GENTLEMAN |
 | Claribel and Other Poems |  |
212
NATURE'S GENTLEMAN
(To James Watson)
He boasts nor wealth nor high descent, yet he may claim to be
A gentleman to match the best of any pedigree:
His blood hath run in peasant veins through many a noteless year;
Yet, search in every prince's court, you'll rarely find his peer.
For he's one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
A gentleman to match the best of any pedigree:
His blood hath run in peasant veins through many a noteless year;
Yet, search in every prince's court, you'll rarely find his peer.
For he's one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
He owns no mansion in the Square, inherits no estate;
He hath no stud, no hounds, no duns, no lacqueys at his gate;
He drinks no wine, and wears no gloves, his coat is thread-bare worn:
Yet he's a gentleman no less, and he was gentle born.
He is one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
He hath no stud, no hounds, no duns, no lacqueys at his gate;
He drinks no wine, and wears no gloves, his coat is thread-bare worn:
Yet he's a gentleman no less, and he was gentle born.
He is one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
213
His manners are not polish'd, he has never learn'd to bow:
But his heart is gentle,—gentle manner out of it doth grow,
Like a flower whose fragrance blesseth all within its beauteous reach,
Or the dainty bloom upon a plum, or the softness of a peach.
For he's one of Nature's gentle ones, the best of every time.
But his heart is gentle,—gentle manner out of it doth grow,
Like a flower whose fragrance blesseth all within its beauteous reach,
Or the dainty bloom upon a plum, or the softness of a peach.
For he's one of Nature's gentle ones, the best of every time.
He takes small pains to smoothe his words to fit a courtly phrase;
And he would scorn to file his soul for even royal praise;
And he has wrath too when the proud the gentlesoul'd distress:
He's not the form—gentility, but very gentleness.
Ay! one of Nature's gentle men, the best of every time.
And he would scorn to file his soul for even royal praise;
And he has wrath too when the proud the gentlesoul'd distress:
He's not the form—gentility, but very gentleness.
Ay! one of Nature's gentle men, the best of every time.
As true old Chaucer sang to us, so many years ago,
He is the gentlest man who dares the gentlest deeds to do:
However rude his birth or state, however low his place,
He is the gentle man whose life right gentle thought doth grace.
He is one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
He is the gentlest man who dares the gentlest deeds to do:
However rude his birth or state, however low his place,
214
He is one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
What though his hand is hard and rough with years of honest pains,—
Who ever thought the knight disgraced by honour's weather-stains?
What though no Heralds' College in their books his line can trace,—
We can see that he is gentle by the smile upon his face.
For he's one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
Who ever thought the knight disgraced by honour's weather-stains?
What though no Heralds' College in their books his line can trace,—
We can see that he is gentle by the smile upon his face.
For he's one of Nature's Gentlemen, the best of every time.
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