Your autumn armor girds you 'round
From cleated shoon to leathern helm,
Your thund'ring rushes scar the ground
'Twixt lime-lined borders of your realm;
'Gainst wearing rack,
For sharp attack,
Swift forrays, 'neath the spheroids flight—
'Gainst jarring knock
And brushing shock
You stand a well-accoutred knight.
Your pliant sinews scorn the strain
Of wind-swift tackles' swooping clasp;
Your shoulders carve the yawning lane,
Your high knees tear the frantic grasp;
Or waiting low
The rushing foe,
Your steel arms tighten, left on right;
Torn free away
Or sore at bay
You roam a strong and sturdy knight.
Revered tradition holds you true
And blazes all your rugged way,
As did the heart the Douglas threw
Into the turmoil of the fray;
And striking square
And hard and fair
You cleave your way with main and might;
Nor yield an inch
Nor foul nor flinch
But strive as best becomes a knight.
