The dented shield, the pierced cuirass,
Sad story is it that they tell
Of brave young knights whose hopes, alas!
Bore meagre fruit; who fighting fell
Before the foe they could not quell;
Who found no wine within the glass.
For some there are but ill-equipped
To face the world; some weak of will
And some faint-hearted, feeble-lipped,
Fit but the lowest posts to fill,