For, like mad Tom's,* our chiefest care, Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. Such nights we've had; and, though the game Of manhood be more sober tame, And though the field-day, or the drill, Seem less important now-yet still Such may we hope to share again. And mark, how like a horseman true, * See King Lear. MARMION. CANTO FOURTH. The Camp. I. EUSTACE, I said, did blithely mark But soon their mood was changed: Some clamoured loud for armour lost; Some brawled and wrangled with the host; By Becket's bones," cried one, "I fear, That some false Scot has stolen my spear !" Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ; Although the rated horse-boy sware, Last night he dressed him sleek and fair. While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder,— To Marmion who the plight dare tell, The charger panting on his straw; Till one, who would seem wisest, cried,— "What else but evil could betide, With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? |