Chapter 19 - Page 2

Honour ne'er was won in sleeping,
Never when the sunbeams still
Lay unreflected on the hill:
'Tis when they are glinted back
From axe and armour, spear and jack,
That they promise future story
Many a page of deathless glory.
Shields that are the foe man's terror,
Ever are the morning's mirror.

II.

"Arm and up--the morning beam
Hath call'd the rustic to his team,
Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake,
Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake;
The early student ponders o'er
His dusty tomes of ancient lore.
Soldier, wake--thy harvest, fame;
Thy study, conquest; war, thy game.
Shield, that would be foeman's terror,
Still should gleam the morning's mirror.

III.

"Poor hire repays the rustic's pain;
More paltry still the sportsman's gain;
Vainest of all, the student's theme
End in gome metaphysic dream.
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled;
And each is eagerer in his aim
Than he who barters life for fame.
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror!
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror."

When the song was finished, the Constable heard some talking
without, and presently Philip Guarine entered the pavilion to tell
that a person, come hither as he said by the Constable's
appointment, waited permission to speak with him.

"By my appointment?" said De Lacy; "admit him immediately."

The messenger of the preceding evening entered the tent, holding
in one hand his small cap and feather, in the other the rote on
which he had been just playing. His attire was fantastic,
consisting of more than one inner dress of various colours, all of
the brightest and richest dyes, and disposed so as to contrast
with each other--the upper garment was a very short Norman cloak,
in bright green. An embroidered girdle sustained, in lieu of
offensive weapons, an inkhorn with its appurtenances on the one
side, on the other a knife for the purposes of the table. His hair
was cut in imitation of the clerical tonsure, which was designed
to intimate that he had arrived to a certain rank in his
profession; for the Joyous Science, as the profession of
minstrelsy was termed, had its various ranks, like the degrees in
the church and in chivalry. The features and the manners of the
man seemed to be at variance with his profession and habit; for,
as the latter was gay and fantastic, the former had a cast of
gravity, and almost of sternness, which, unless when kindled by
the enthusiasm of his poetical and musical exertions, seemed
rather to indicate deep reflection, than the thoughtless vivacity
of observation which characterized most of his brethren. His