I
TILL I, that am a soldier born, can find
Some war so worthy, I may pledge it straight
Unto my dear and virgin sword for mate,
Who now lies cloistered in her sheath behind,
Must I ride thus in vain; and on my mind
The torment and the thirst of glory wait,
And never cause with zeal inviolate
Be strong enough my haughty youth to bind.
Ah, readier men-at-arms! beneath the trees
Where shepherd-meek, I bear mine altered part,
And watch the charge far off, and think with awe:
I have seen higher, holier things than these,
And therefore must to these refuse my heart,—
That heavenly pride forbids my hand to draw.