Sir Knight, Sir Knight, no longer twine
The laurel-leaf o'er that bold brow of thine;
Friar, to-day from thy temples tear
The ivy garland that sages wear;
To-day, bold Forester, cast aside
Thy oak-leaf crown, the woodland's pride,
And bind round your brows the myrtle gay,
While the rebeck resounds love's sweetest lays.
Sir Knight, urge not now the gallant steed
O'er the plains that to honour and glory lead;