The Musketeers
ATHOS .
Thy mind was fit for prehistoric time,
When man was perfect, ere the birth of guile;
I love the gentle glamour of thy smile;
I love thy heart beyond all taint or crime.
No passion base e'er touched thee with its slime;
In thee dwelt radiant honor and no wile;
And not a thought ignoble could defile
Thy soul, that ever higher seemed to climb!
Whene'er of all thy prowesses I read,
I see thee, grave, before me, with thy wine,
The mellow vin d'Anjou thou lov'dst so well;
And then again, Homeric, on thy steed,
Clearing the foemen with a smile divine,
Below the embattled walls of La Rochelle!
Thy mind was fit for prehistoric time,
When man was perfect, ere the birth of guile;
I love the gentle glamour of thy smile;
I love thy heart beyond all taint or crime.
No passion base e'er touched thee with its slime;
In thee dwelt radiant honor and no wile;
And not a thought ignoble could defile
Thy soul, that ever higher seemed to climb!
Whene'er of all thy prowesses I read,
I see thee, grave, before me, with thy wine,
The mellow vin d'Anjou thou lov'dst so well;
And then again, Homeric, on thy steed,
Clearing the foemen with a smile divine,
Below the embattled walls of La Rochelle!
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