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and the name of the Knight was not afterwards mentioned without that of the field of his glory. But .
“ The Knights are dust,
And their good swords are rust," and all that they did lives only in the page of the poet. “Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green mounds and shattered ruins—the place that once knew them knows them no more-nay, many a race since theirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land which they occupied, with all the authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. What then would it avail the reader to know their names, or the evanescent symbols of their martial rank!"
Theirs was not true glory. There is another glory, the most durable and the most estimable—it is that which follows great services rendered to mankind by great goodness and great genius. That navigator who gave one half of the world to the other half-that poet whom Milton calls, “Dear son of memory, great heir of fame” —those defenders of religion who feared not principalities and powers, but counted their lives cheap, so that they showed the truth and established it; and that peaceful legislator who gave his name to the wild woods, and laid the foundation of a state, according to the rules of the gospel, have all benefited mankind, and inherit true fame.-One by his immortal"pen has sweetened and gladdened life, and the others by their divers labours, have relieved men from burthens grievous to be borne.
-They have taken off fetters from the human understanding, have given a wider sphere to human intelligence, and a better direction to human conduct.
As was very natural, the ancient warriors held their horses in high esteem: they even fancied that this most beautiful of animals entered into their feelings, and partook of their glory or their grief. The rider would
In his own proper seat.-Look how he leans
And answer to the voice that praises him.” And upon the spot where his lord might afterwards have been slain or conquered, this faithful animal would sometimes be found,
his silver mane
And who had thus again forsaken him.” These verses of Mr. Southey's describe Orelio, the warhorse of Roderick, the last Gothic king of Spain.
Attachment and admiration for the horse appear to be almost universal. The Hebrew poet, whoever he was, who composed the book of Job, has given a sublime description of the war-horse:
“ Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mucketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage : neither believeth he tha it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.”
EXTRACT FROM PALAMON AND ARCITE. “In Athens all was pleasure, mirth and play, All proper to the spring, and sprightly May.
Now scarce the dawning day began to spring, As at a signal given, the streets with clamours ring : At once the crowd arose ; confus'd and high E'en from the heay'n was heard a shouting cry. The neighing of the gen'rous horse was heard, For battle by the busy groom prepar'd; Rustling of harness; rattling of the shield; Clatt'ring of armour, furbish'd for the field. Crowds, to the castle, mounted up the street, Batt'ring the pavement with their coursers' feet : The greedy sight might, there, devour the gold Or glitt’ring arms, too dazzling to behold: And polish'd steel that cast the view aside, And cresled morions, with their plumy pride. Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, In gaudy liv’ries march, and quaint attires. One lae'd the helm, another held the lance : A third the shining buckler did advance. The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet, And, snorting, foam’d, and champ'd the golden bit. The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for shields pre
vide. The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands; And clowns come crowding on with cudgels in their
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Factious, and fav’ring this, or t’ other side,
Wak'd by the cries, th' Athenian chief arose,
The tourney is allowd but one career,
The herald ends : the vaulted firmament