LILY! I've made a sketch to shew How all the world will alter The tournament in Ivanhoe As painted by Sir Walter: Those jousting-days are all gone by, And, heaven be praised they're over! "When brains were out, the man would die," A swain may now recover! II. Yet, Lily! Love has still his darts, And Beauty still her glances; Her trophies now are wounded hearts, Instead of broken lances! Soft tales are told though not with flowers, But in a simple letter, And, on the whole, this world of ours Is altered for the better! III. Your stalwart chiefs, and men of might, Though fine poetic sketches, Contrasted with a modern knight, Were sad unpolished wretches: They learned, indeed, to poise a dart, Or breathe a bold defiance; But "reading" was a mystic art, IV. Our heroes still wear spur on heel, But for your surcoats made of steel, And "doublets" made of leather, Good heavens! just fancy at a ball, And then, they never shaved at all- V. A warrior wasted half his life In wild crusades to Mecca, In previous penance for a wife, Like Jacob for Rebecca! Or captive held some twenty years At Tunis or Aleppo, Came back, perchance without his ears, A yellow fright, like Beppo! |