XXV.

He put his acorn-helmet on; It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; The corslet-plate that guarded his breast Was once the wild-bees’ golden vest; His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes, Was formed of the wings of butterflies; His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, Studs of gold on a ground of green; And the quivering lance which he brandished bright, Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. Swift he bestrode his firefly steed; He bared his blade of the bent grass blue; He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, And away like a glance of thought he flew, To skim the heavens and follow far The fiery trail of the rocket-star.