He turned, but turned to draw his sword.
He trod the weaker in the mire,
Nor stayed from blood his mailèd hand,
And tramped in fury and in fire
Through many a devastated land.
I blame him not, it was his trade;
Though small his care for wrong or right,
At least he fought himself, nor stayed
At home to bid the others fight.
Long since we've placed him on the shelf;