Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high,
       &nbspSince you told of the deeds which our countrymen wrought;
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,
       &nbspAnd I too will fight as my forefathers fought.

Despise not my youth, for my spirit is steel'd,
       &nbspAnd I know there is strength in the grasp of my hand;
Yea, as firm as thyself would I march to the field,
       &nbspAnd as proudly would die for my dear native land.

In the sports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight,
       &nbspThe sound of a trumpet suspended my breath;
And my fancy still wander'd by day and by night,
       &nbspAmid battle and tumult, 'mid conquest and death.

My own shout of onset, when the Armies advance,
       &nbspHow oft it awakes me from visions of glory;
When I meant to have leapt on the Hero of France,
       &nbspAnd have dash'd him to earth, pale and breathless and gory.

As late thro' the city with banners all streaming
       &nbspTo the music of trumpets the Warriors flew by,
With helmet and scimitars naked and gleaming,
       &nbspOn their proud-trampling, thunder-hoof'd steeds did they fly;

I sped to yon heath that is lonely and bare,
       &nbspFor each nerve was unquiet, each pulse in alarm;
And I hurl'd the mock-lance thro' the objectless air,
       &nbspAnd in open-eyed dream proved the strength of my arm.

Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high,
       &nbspSince you told of the deeds that our countrymen wrought;
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,
       &nbspAnd I too will fight as my forefathers fought!