IV.
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heirs was the glee of martial breast,And laughter theirs at little jest;And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid,And mingle in the mirth they made;For though, with men of high degree,The proudest of the proud was he,Yet, trained in camps, he knew the artTo win the soldier’s hardy heart.They love a captain to obey,Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May;With open hand, and brow as free,Lover of wine and minstrelsy;Ever the first to scale a tower,As venturous in a lady’s bower:Such buxom chief shall lead his hostFrom India’s fires to Zembla’s frost.
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