THE KNIGHT came home from the quest,
    Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
    Bannerless, bruised and lame.
    Fighting we take no shame,
    Better is man for a fall.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
    Answered the warder’s call:—
“Here is my lance to mend (Haro!),
    Here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
    But I paid as good as I got!”

“Oh, dark and deep their van,
    That mocked my battle-cry.
I could not miss my man,
    But I could not carry by:
    Utterly whelmed was I,
    Flung under, horse and all.”
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
    Answered the warder’s call!

“My wounds are noised abroad;
    But theirs my foemen cloaked.
Ye see my broken sword—
    But never the blades she broke;
    Paying them stroke for stroke,
    Good handsel over all.”
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
    Answered the warder’s call!