SQUIRE NORTON'S SONG

by: Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

      HE child and the old man sat alone
      In the quiet, peaceful shade
      Of the old green boughs, that had richly grown
      In the deep, thick forest glade.
      It was a soft and pleasant sound,
      That rustling of the oak;
      And the gentle breeze played lightly round
      As thus the fair boy spoke:--
       
      "Dear father, what can honor be,
      Of which I hear men rave?
      Field, cell and cloister, land and sea,
      The tempest and the grave:--
      It lives in all, 'tis sought in each,
      'Tis never heard or seen:
      Now tell me, father, I beseech,
      What can this honor mean?"
       
      "It is a name -- a name, my child --
      It lived in other days,
      When men were rude, their passions wild,
      Their sport, thick battle-frays.
      When, in armor bright, the warrior bold
      Knelt to his lady's eyes:
      Beneath the abbey pavement old
      That warrior's dust now lies.
       
      "The iron hearts of that old day
      Have mouldered in the grave;
      And chivalry has passed away,
      With knights so true and brave;
      The honor, which to them was life,
      Throbs in no bosom now;
      It only gilds the gambler's strife,
      Or decks the worthless vow."

"Squire Norton's Song" is reprinted from The Poems and Verse of Charles Dickens. Ed. F.G. Kitton. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1903.

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