With this I tread the luscious grape, and drink the blood-red wine;
And slaves around in order wait, and all are counted mine!
But he that will not rear the lance upon the battle-field,
Nor sway the sword, nor stand behind the breast-defending shield,
On lowly knee must worship me, with servile kiss adored,
And peal the cry of homage high, and hail me mighty Lord! —D. K. Sandford.
The same.
My riches are the arms I wield,
The spear, the sword, the shaggy shield,
My bulwark in the battle-field: