IV.

Theirs was the glee of martial breast, And laughter theirs at little jest; And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid, And mingle in the mirth they made; For though, with men of high degree, The proudest of the proud was he, Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art To win the soldier’s hardy heart. They love a captain to obey, Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; With open hand, and brow as free, Lover of wine and minstrelsy; Ever the first to scale a tower, As venturous in a lady’s bower: Such buxom chief shall lead his host From India’s fires to Zembla’s frost.