Dark were the curls of his clustering hair,
Dark the moustache that o’ershadowed his lip,
And his glance was as keen as the sword at his hip;
Though the enemy’s charge was like lightning’s fierce shock,
His seat was as firm as the wave-beaten rock;
And woe to the foeman, whom pride or mischance
Opposed to the stroke of his conquering lance.
He carved at the board, and he danced in the hall,
And the ladies admired him, each one and all.
In a word, I should say, he appears to have been