Classic Poem

Three gallant knights ride down the road, —
They use nor spur nor rein;
In laugh and jest they little bode
That on this way their steeds have trod
They turn not back again.

They laugh and chat along the way,
These noble lords of Spain, —
No haste to go, no care to stay,
A dusty road, a sunny day;
And little heed the three that they
Will ne'er go back again.

" Groom, take this horse; Boy, feed him well! "
Ah, me, a caution vain!
Yet not one warning voice to tell
How ends this Council of the Bell,
How each man falls beneath the spell,
And goes not back again!

A flashing axe, a headsman's sword,
Three falling trunks, and then,
With never prayer or shriving word,
Lies stark in death each laughing lord,
And none goes back again.