THE TOURNAY OF THE HEROES



Ho, warders, cry a tournay! ho, heralds, call the knights!
What gallant lance for old Romance 'gainst modern fiction fights?
The lists are set, the Knights are met, I ween, a dread array,
St. Chad to shield, a stricken field shall we behold to-day!
First to the Northern barriers pricks Roland of Roncesvaux,
And by his side, in knightly pride, Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
The Templar rideth by his rein, two gallant foes were they;
And proud to see, le brave Bussy his colours doth display.

Ready at need he comes with speed, William of Deloraine,
And Hereward the Wake himself is pricking o'er the plain.
The good knight of La Mancha's here, here is Sir Amyas Leigh,
And Eric of the gold hair, pride of Northern chivalry.
There shines the steel of Alan Breck, the sword of Athos shines,
Dalgetty on Gustavus rides along the marshalled lines,
With many a knight of sunny France the Cid has marched from Spain,
And Gotz the Iron-handed leads the lances of Almain.

But who upon the Modern side are champions? With the sleeve
Adorned of his false lady-love, rides glorious David Grieve,
A bookseller sometime was he, in a provincial town,
But now before his iron mace go horse and rider down.
Ho, Robert Elsmere! count thy beads; lo, champion of the fray,