That rather to a baby’s sword is loyal,
If it be birthright, than a hero’s sword
That is not wrought till smithied out of fire.
I ever saw the higher soul in him,
And when the weapon-brother dropped his shield
I raised it for him with as ready will
As e’er I raised his sceptre for the King.
The crown and the first woman: both I yielded
With grudgeless heart, for I had felt his worth.
Alex.