Or dusty in its hiding place.
It brings to mind a day gone by,
Our fathers and their chivalry--
It speaks of courtly Knight and Squire,
Of Lady's love, and Dame, and Friar,
Of times, (perchance not better now,)
When care had less of wrinkled brow--
When she with hydra-troubled mien,
Our greatest enemy, the Spleen,
Was seldom, or was never seen.

Now pledge they round each other's name,
And drink to Squire and drink to Dame,
While here, more precious far than gold,
Sits womanhood, with modest eye--
Glances to her the truth unfold,
She shall not pass unheeded by.
T'was _woman_ that with health did greet,
When Vortigern did Hengist meet--
'Twas fair Rowena, Saxon maid,
In blue-ey'd majesty array'd,
Presented 'neath their witching roll
To British Chief the wassail bowl.
She touch'd to him, nor then in vain,
He back return'd the health again.
Thus 'tis with feelings kind as true
They drink the tribute ever due,
Nor would they less, tho' truth denied it,
Their love for woman would decide it.