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Charles Dickens - Squire Norton`s Song
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            The 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."
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