This is metal for sounding clarions. And so too is The Knight Errant: the second stanza an epitome of grand quotable abstractions:
“Let claws of lightning clutch me
From summer’s groaning cloud,
Or ever malice touch me,
And glory make me proud.
Oh, give my youth, my faith, my sword,
Choice of the heart’s desire:
A short life in the saddle, Lord!
Not long life by the fire.”
You find admonishing whispers from a mind grown expert in counsel: