Above him stood the Rydal bard—his face was full of woe.
"Now there thou liest, stiff and stark, who never feared a foe:
A braver knight, or more renowned in tourney and in hall,
Ne'er brought the upper gallery down than terrible Fitzball!"
They led our Wordsworth to the Queen—she crowned him with the bays
And wished him many happy years, and many quarter-days;
And if you'd have the story told by abler lips than mine,
You've but to call at Rydal Mount, and taste the Laureate's wine!
William Aytoun.