  The Days of Chivalry. A ALAS! The days of chivalry are fled, The brilliant tournament exists no more; Our loves are cold, and dull as ice or lead, And courting is a most enormous bore.In those good “olden times,” a “ladye bright” Might sit within her turret or her bower, While lovers sang and played without all night, And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower. Yet if one favored swain would persevere, In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh, Perchance she threw him, with the closing year, An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf. Off then, away he’d ride o’er sea and land, And dragons fell and mighty giants smite With the tough spear he carried in his hand; And all to prove himself her own true knight. _ Meanwhile a thousand more, as wild as he, Were all employed upon the self-same thing; And when each had rode hard for his “ladye,” They all come back and met within a ring. Where all the men who were entitled “syr” Appeared with martial air and haughty frown, Bearing “long poles, each other up to stir,” And, in the stir-up, thrust each other down. And then they galloped round with dire intent, Each knight resolved another’s pride to humble; And laughter rang around the tournament As oft as any of them had a tumble. And when, perchance, some ill-starred wight might die, The victim of a stout, unlucky poke, Mayhap some fair one wiped one beauteous eye, The rest smiled calmly on the deadly joke. Soon, then, the lady, whose grim, stalwart swain Had got the strongest horse and toughest pole, Bedecked him, kneeling, with a golden chain, And plighted troth before the motley whole. Alas! the days of chivalry are fled, The brilliant tournament exists no more. Men now are cold and dull as ice or lead, And even courtship is a dreadful bore. |
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