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Des traditions etrangeres

En parlent sans obscurité.
Mais dans ces sources mensongeres
Ne cherchons point la verité.

Nous avons changé tout cela.


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!


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!


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,

And “writing ” quite a science!

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Our heroes still wear spur on heel,

And falchion, cap, and feather ; But for your “surcoats " made of steel,

And “ doublets” made of leather -
Good heavens! just fancy at a ball,

How very incommodious !
And then, they never shaved at all-

'T was positively odious! ,

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 !

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