He hears at last the stirring words that move
His soul as it has never yet been moved;
Words that have haunted his imagining
For days and nights, making his young heart yearn
With restless longing for this present hour;
Words that presage the glory of his life,
The consecrated purpose of his youth
In its fulfilment and accomplishment;
The holy, sacred, solemn, early vow
Of future knighthood for the noble lad.
And now his father's sword is shown to him;
His daring spirit, of a knightly race,
Leaps out to grasp it, though his hand may not
Until he grows to manhood. O the years
That he must wait, and serve, and work for that!
Why is it not to-morrow? He is strong,
And, never having seen the great, wide world,
With boyish confidence, that is the germ
All undeveloped of man's later strength,
He feels he is its master. For a space
The altar and the holy man of God
Are veiled before his earnest, searching gaze,
By sudden picture which his fancy paints:
He sees a tournament, himself a knight--

"God's peace be with thee, valiant boy and true;
In the name of God the Father, and of the Son
And of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

No tilt