BY laurels upon your brow
New-placed, our worth is reckoned:
You are a hero now,
And I,—a dead man’s second.
Your prowess was most fair,
And fairer yet I own it;
A majesty lies there,
And you have overthrown it.
To dexterous hands was given
Your weapon giant-hewing;
The lightning out from heaven
Had scarcely dared its doing!
For balm on wounds aghast
Supreme in you my trust is;
Solicitous to the last,
Your pity tempered justice.
Thanks, to my final breath,
For challenge, thrust, and parry.
With this pale weight of death
Your living praise I carry.
I see no hate abhorr’d,
But courtesy acting thro’ you:
The Devil, sweet my lord,
Be thus considerate to you!
In honor, after a lapse,
Dare you to combat sprightly,
Thenceforth you chance mishaps
To superintend,—politely.